UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT    LOS  ANGELES 


1    - 


The  Works  of  Leonard  Merrick 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 


The  Works  of 

LEONARD MERRICK 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH.  With 
an  Introduction  by  Sra  J.  M.  BARRIE. 

WHEN  LOVE  FLIES  OUT  O'  THE  WINDOW. 
With  an  Introduction  by  SIR  WILLIAM  ROBERT- 
SON NICOLL. 

THE  QUAINT  COMPANIONS.  With  an  Intro- 
duction by  H.  G.  WELLS. 

THE  POSITION  OF  PEGGY  HARPER.  With 
an  Introduction  by  SIR  ARTHUR  PINERO. 

THE  MAN  WHO  UNDERSTOOD  WOMEN  and 
other  Stories.  '  With  an  Introduction  by  W.  J. 
LOCKE. 

THE  WORLDLINGS.  With  an  Introduction  by 
NEIL  MUNRO. 

THE  ACTOR-MANAGER.  With  an  Introduction 
by  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 

CYNTHIA.  With  an  Introduction  by  MAURICE 
HEWLETT. 

ONE  MAN'S  VIEW.  With  an  Introduction  by 
GRANVILLE  BARKER. 

THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  GOOD.  With  an  Intro- 
duction  by  J.  K.  PROTHERO. 

A  CHAIR  ON  THE  BOULEVARD.  With  an 
Introduction  by  A.  NEIL  LYONS. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH.  With  an  Introduc- 
tion by  G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 

WHILE  PARIS  LAUGHED:  BEING  PRANKS  AND 
PASSIONS  OF  THE  POET  TRICOTRIN. 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


THE 
HOUSE   OF   LYNCH 


Li' 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
a  K.  CHESTERTON 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY  E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


The  First  American  Definitive  Edition,  with  Introduction  by 

G.  K.  Chesterton,  limited  to  1550  copies 

(of  which  only  1500  were  for  sale) 

Published,  December,  1919. 
Second  American  Edition,  September,  1920 
Third  1926 

Fourth          "  1920 

Fifth  "  "  "          1923 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


INTRODUCTION 

T*> 

MR.  LEONARD  MERRICK,  in  most  of  his  books, 

and  as  some  think  in  the  best  of  his  books,  has 
been  concerned  with  the  comedy  of  Bohemia. 
He  has  delighted  the  world  with  many  tales  of 
that  unworldly  optimism  and  that  equally  un- 
o  worldly  opportunism.  In  The  House  of  Lynch, 
v  doubtless,  he  strikes  a  graver  and  perhaps  even  a 
g  sterner  note.  It  might  be  said  to  touch  not  the 
comedy  of  Bohemia  but  the  tragedy  of  Bohemia. 
Or  if  the  issue  of  the  story  is  too  triumphant  to 
be  called  tragic,  the  treatment  of  it  can  at  least 
be  called  comparatively  realistic.  The  sincerity 
of  the  study  can  hardly  be  appreciated  properly 
without  some  memory  of  the  brilliant  carnival 
of  inconsequence  associated  with  his  better- 
known  books.  For  The  House  of  Lynch  is, 
among  other  things,  the  study  of  the  real  struggle 
of  an  artist  against  real  difficulties,  which  he  has 
defied  for  a  reason  that  is  not  fantastic,  even  if 
some  would  call  it  fanatical.  He  is  one  for 
whom  being  poor  and  honest  is  a  fighting  paradox 
,and  not  a  faded  truism.  No  book  is  full  of  a 


361336 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

finer  laughter  than  Conrad  in  Quest  of  His 
Youth;  but  it  is  rather  enriched  by  the  irony 
which  reminds  us  throughout  that  Conrad  had  a 
little  too  much  money.  If  it  could  have  been 
called  "Conrad  in  Quest  of  His  Life,"  in  the 
sense  of  his  livelihood,  the  story  might  possibly 
have  been  more  happy  if  less  humorous.  I  am, 
myself,  especially  attracted  by  the  adventures  of 
the  impecunious  poet  in  While  Paris  Laughed; 
but  Mr.  Merrick  is  too  much  of  an  artist  to  treat 
in  the  same  way  the  pugnacious  poverty  in  The 
House  of  Lynch.  He  does  not  confuse  a  peas- 
ant's toil  to  get  a  living  with  a  vagabond's  trick 
to  get  a  lodging.  The  same  simile  of  a  peasant 
might  serve  to  remind  us  of  the  other  side  of 
France  from  that  so  gracefully  sketched  in  the 
Montmartre  quarter;  and  the  same  idle  fancy 
of  a  shifting  of  titles  might  easily  imagine  Mr. 
Merrick  writing  a  more  realistic  romance  about 
the  later  and  darker  days  of  the  same  great 
capital,  when  it  defiantly  waited  its  deliverance 
from  the  menace  of  the  worst  tyranny  of  the 
world;  a  story  that  might  well  have  been  called 
"While  Paris  Watched"  or  even  "While  Paris 
Prayed." 

For  The  House  of  Lynch  also  deals  with 
tyranny  and  deliverance  from  tyranny;  and 
though  that  tyranny  sprang  up  in  a  more  sordid 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

environment,  it  has  spread  itself  with  something 
of  the  same  cosmopolitan  power.  The  House  of 
Lynch  is  the  story  of  a  spirited  and  self-respect- 
ing artist,  who  refused  to  profit  by  the  polluted 
wealth  of  a  base  and  blatant  American  million- 
aire. He  insists  on  marrying  the  daughter  of 
the  millionaire  as  if  she  were  the  daughter  of  a 
pauper;  and  the  rest  of  the  story  records  his 
own  struggle  to  avoid  pauperism  and  maintain 
principle.  It  is  here  that  the  graver  and  more 
realistic  method  of  Mr.  Merrick  is  appropriately 
developed.  He  does  not  fail  to  state  the  real 
problems  that  often  change  and  chill  the  fiery 
simplicity  of  such  a  challenge;  especially  that 
double  altruism  and  division  of  duties  which 
appears  in  the  presence  of  the  child;  and  which 
may  have  something  to  do  with  the  tradition 
which  encouraged  enthusiasts  to  be  celibates. 
He  never  glosses  over  the  fact  that  such  a 
challenge  is  desperately  hard  to  maintain;  but 
he  never  leaves  on  the  reader's  mind  the  least 
doubt  of  his  conviction  that  it  is  worth  maintain- 
ing. The  perilous  but  quite  positive  poise  or 
balance  is  very  dexterously  suggested  in  the 
temporary  surrender  of  one  of  the  partners  in 
the  adventure,  who  repents  of  her  virtue  and 
then  repents  of  her  evil  repentance.  There  is 
never  any  reason  to  lose  sight  of  the  original 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

root  of  the  trouble,  the  modern  tyranny  of  gold 
and  especially  of  ill-gotten  gold.  It  would  be 
unreasonable  to  expect  even  an  American 
millionaire  to  have  a  thousand  sons-in-law;  but 
he  may  well  have  a  thousand  dependents;  and 
the  modern  moral  problem  undoubtedly  is  that 
of  turning  all  those  dependents  into  independ- 
ents. For  such  fortunes  are  in  reality  exactly 
what  they  are  here  in  romance;  shameful  drugs 
poisoning  private  honour,  and  permanent  pesti- 
lences threatening  public  health.  Excuses  are 
made  for  them  in  politics  and  the  press,  the 
same  excuses  which  the  stunted  and  half-witted 
soul  of  the  little  plutocrat  makes  for  them  in 
this  story.  But  the  very  excuses  offered  are 
enough  to  prove  the  whole  situation  to  be 
inexcusable.  They  have  a  flat  and  fourth-rate 
character  which  has  hardly  ever  before  belonged 
to  the  ruling  minds  of  a  human  society.  Ours 
is  perhaps  the  first  generation  of  men  which  has 
allowed  itself  to  be  ruled,  not  merely  by  men  who 
might  h«,ve  undignified  characters,  but  by  men 
who  mu§t  have  undignified  aims.  The  mere  mil- 
lionaire has  already  proved  his  inferior  intelli- 
gence by  seeking  what  he  pretends  to  have 
proved  his  superior  intelligence  by  finding. 
Military  courage  or  tribal  loyalty  may  be  rudi- 
mentary and  barbaric  virtues,  but  they  were 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

virtues;  it  has  been  left  for  our  own  time  to 
allow  men  to  rise  to  national  and  international 
power  wholly  and  solely  by  their  vices,  and  these 
only  the  meaner  vices.  Hence  it  follows  that  a 
plutocracy,  unlike  an  aristocracy,  has  not  any 
sad  or  even  sulky  legend  surrounding  its  decay 
and  death;  for  all  men  feel  in  their  hearts  that 
its  death  would  not  be  in  the  least  sad.  The  fall 
of  the  House  of  Lynch  would  be  surrounded  by 
no  such  tragic  portents  as  the  fall  of  the  House 
of  Usher;  for  we  should  all  feel  that  it  would 
not  be  a  tragic,  but  rather  an  agreeably  comic 
incident.  It  would  only  be  a  business  going 
"bust";  and  as  bad  a  business  as  there  has  ever 
been  in  this  world. 

It  may  be  counted  very  fitting,  therefore,  that 
Mr.  Leonard  Merrick,  who  has  himself  always 
maintained  the  difficult  and  disinterested  fight 
for  the  fine  art  of  writing,  among  the  vulgar  and 
vapid  distractions  of  a  commercial  civilisation, 
should  have  devoted  one  at  least  of  his  novels 
to  a  serious  sketch  of  a  personal  struggle  against 
the  commercial  power.  Those  who  delight  most 
in  the  dance  of  fanciful  events  in  his  lighter 
novels  will  least  regret  it,  if  the  spirit  of  this  one 
is  a  shade  more  grave  or  even  more  grim.  It 
is  always  the  charge  against  any  entertaining 
treatment  of  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  Micawber 


x  INTRODUCTION 

mode  of  existence,  that  it  deals  less  with  the 
downs  than  with  the  ups.  It  is  well  to  have  a 
story  in  which  the  downs  are  taken  with  dignity 
and  even  defiance;  and  which  can  thus  be  said 
to  be  realistic  but  not  pessimistic.  By  com- 
parison such  passages  may  be  sober  or  even 
sombre,  but  they  are  in  no  sense  sceptical;  they 
do  not  work  to  weaken  the  nerve  of  will  which 
they  analyse.  They  will  suggest  another  side 
of  a  literary  individuality  to  which  we  are 
grateful  for  many  other  causes;  and  permit  us 
to  pay  some  tribute  of  personal  respect,  where 
we  already  owe  so  much  of  a  more  impersonal 
pleasure. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 


CHAPTER  I 

THOUGH  he  had  resolved  to  avoid  her,  he  was 
there  after  all — they  were  sitting  in  the  conserva- 
tory. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  a  New  York  din- 
ner dance,  Mr.  Keith?"  she  said.  She  bore  a 
name  that  stank  in  the  nostrils  of  the  world ;  her 
father  was  the  devastating  Trust  magnate,  the 
debaucher  of  politics,  the  infamous  multi-million- 
aire— Jordan  B.  Lynch. 

"Mrs.  Waldehast  is  giving  me  a  novel  ex- 
perience— one  more." 

"Is  it  so  different  from  what  you  call  'small- 
and-earlies'  in  England?" 

"I  haven't  been  to  many;  I'm  not  a  Society 
personage,  Miss  Lynch." 

"Artists  don't  think  much  of  Society  do  they?" 

"Some  think  of  it  more  than  they  do  of  art. 
I  don't  mean  your  artists  here,  of  course — I  don't 

i 


2  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

know  enough  about  them — I  mean  our  swells  at 
home." 

"I've  never  grasped  the  distinction  between 
your  'swells'  and  our  'smart  set' — I'm  not  sure 
if  I  know  what  a  swell  is." 

"Well,  I'm  probably  the  only  person  you 
know  who  isn't  one." 

"Mr.  Keith,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "why  will 
you  always  address  me  as  if  we  were  residing  in 
different  planets?" 

"Merely  because  we  are.  Mrs.  Waldehast  has 
been  wonderf ully  nice  to  me ;  but  this  is  the  only 
smart  house  I  have  been  to  in  New  York,  and  I 
should  never  have  met  you  at  any  mutual  friend's 
in  London."  He  hesitated,  and  then,  as  she  gave 
no  sign  of  understanding  him,  went  on,  "It's 
quite  as  caddish  to  harp  on  one's  pecuniary  draw- 
backs as  on  one's  pecuniary  advantages,  but  you 
may  have  gathered  by  this  time  that — er — that  I 
—that " 

"I  have  'gathered,'  "  she  smiled. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Keith;  "I  might  have 
known  your  intelligence  couldn't  fail." 

"Well?" 

"That's  all.  Excepting  that  I'm  afraid  I 
have  not  always  addressed  you  quite  as  you  say. 
You  see  you  come  here  a  great  deal,  and  so  do  I, 
and  I've  almost  forgotten  things  in  moments." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  3 

"Well,  forget  them  now,  please.  Do  you  know 
I  think  you're  horrid — I  ask  you  to  talk,  and  you 
just  speak!" 

"You're  very  kind.  What  do  you  ask  me 
to  talk  about?" 

"Well,  what  did  you  talk  about  to  your 
friends?" 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  on  the  planet  that  I 
mustn't  remember,  we  talk  about  our  difficulties, 
when  we  aren't  romancing  about  our  prices.  To 
you,  Miss  Lynch,  we  should  talk  Greek.  The 
dominant  adjective  is  'hard  up.' ' 

"But  you  have  some  good  times?" 

"Oh  yes.  At  our  swaggerest  functions — those 
given  by  fellows  who  have  more  than  one  room — 
men  even  bring  their  wives.  And  the  wives 
bring  the  babies,  and  put  them  to  sleep  on  the 
host's  bed.  They  don't  keep  a  nurse,  and  they 
couldn't  leave  the  babies  behind  alone.  Some  of 
the  Greek?" 

She  denied  it  radiantly:  "No,  that  is  rather 
humorous." 

"Y-e-s;  I'm  told  the  humour  soon  wears 
thin." 

"Well,  I'm  very  glad  that  Dardy  saw  that 
picture  of  yours  when  she  was  in  London — she's 
enthusiastic  about  your  portrait  of  her!  So  am 
I ;  it's  splendid.  You  know,  she  wondered  whether 


4  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

you'd  come  over  when  Mr.  Waldehast  wrote — 
she  didn't  know  but  what  it  was  a  lot  to  ask." 

"It's  a  very  usual  thing  to  ask.  And  it  isn't 
always  as  complimentary  as  we  want  to  think; 
a  woman  often  sees  a  half-length  somewhere, 
and  sends  the  man  a  commission,  because  she 
appreciated — his  model.  Lots  of  our  men  come 
over  to  paint  people  they  have  never  seen.  It's 
rather  a  nervous  journey." 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so — the  people  may  be 
perfectly  hideous.  You  must  have  been  glad  to 
see  Dardy?" 

"I  was.  The  best  thing  to  be  said  of  portrait 
painting,  as  a  rule,  is  that  it's  the  only  education 
anybody  is  paid  to  take — it  teaches  you  to  search 
for  individuality.  A  portrait  isn't  made  by  paint- 
ing features — you  have  to  paint  the  character 
behind  them." 

"Not  everyone  would  say  'thank  you'  for 
that,"  she  remarked. 

"Quite  so — and  not  everyone  would  be  satisfied 
with  my  portrait  of  him.  But  it  doesn't  matter, 
because  I  don't  want  to  paint  portraits.  It's 
awful  work !  A  portrait  painter,  nine  times  out 
of  ten,  has  to  choose  between  being  an  artist  and 
a  courtier." 

"I  think  you'd  be  very  unwise  to  talk  like  that," 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  5 

she  said  sharply;  "it's  bad  business!  I've  told 
you  so  before." 

"Yes,  I  know."  He  flushed.  "I  suppose  I'm 
not  a  business  man.  It  was  stupid  of  me  to  say 
it." 

"No,  you're  not  to  think  that ;  you'll  take  that 
back,  please.  It's  how  I  want  you  to  talk,  to  me 
— as  you  really  feel!  But  I  do  caution  you 
against  talking  like  it  to  other  people.  You 
ought  to  make  a  lot  of  money  in  New  York  if 
you're  smart." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  have  declined  any  commis- 
sions just  now — in  fact,  I've  stayed  on  here  in 
the  hope  of  getting  some." 

"You  did  decline  one,"  she  said;  "I  asked  you 
to  paint  me,  and  you  made  excuses.  Was  that 
the  reason — you  thought  I'd  want  you  to  be  a 
courtier?" 

"I  think  I  begged  you  to  let  me  paint  you, 
didn't  I?  I  was  very  eager  to." 

"You  offered  to  make  a  sketch  of  me  as  a  gift 
— that  wasn't  what  I  wanted.  Anyhow,  whether 
you  hate  portraits  or  not,  you  ought  to  pretend 
to  gush  about  them.  Dardy's  picture  should  do 
you  good  here  if  you  take  the  right  tone.  You 
know,  Mr.  Keith,  I'm  ages  older  than  you." 

"Yes.  I'm  thirty-three;  I  suppose  you're 
twenty." 


6  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"It's  sweet  of  you,  but  I'm  more.  And  I 

didn't  mean  in  years,  I  meant  in Well, 

you  know  what  I  meant.  Do  you  think  I'm 
horribly  worldly,  Mr.  Keith?" 

"Am  I  meant  to  tell  you  the  truth?" 

"Sure!    I  can  suffer." 

"Then  you've  amazed  me,  in  moments,  by 
your  unworldliness.  That  was  what  interested 
me — you  were  so  unlike  what  I  thought  you 
would  be." 

"What  was  that?" 

"I  thought  what  a  fraud  it  was  that  you  had 
such  a — such  a — I'm  bound  to  be  blatant — such 
a  beautiful  face,  for  I  didn't  for  an  instant  sup- 
pose that  you  would  have  a  beautiful  mind." 

"You  are  different  from  the  others,"  she  mur- 
mured. "And  don't  you  think  it  a  fraud  any 
more?" 

"No." 

"Do  go  ahead!" 

"I  only  think  it  a  pity  that  your  life  doesn't 
give  a  chance  to  your  soul." 

Her  eyes  were  attentive,  puzzled.  "Religion?" 
she  hazarded. 

"The  religion  of  'one  who  loves  his  fellowmen.' 
I  think  that  everybody  ought  to  do  all  he  can  for 
humanity.  Of  course  the  influence  of  most  of 
us  doesn't  show  outside  our  homes,  but  wealth  is 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  7 

a  wide  power,  and  art  is  a  wide  power — the 
painter  speaks  in  every  language — I  don't  think 
one  is  entitled  to  fritter  away  either  one's  wealth 
or  one's  art."  His  voice  gained  courage.  "You 
just  lectured  me  for  saying  I  didn't  want  to  go 
on  with  portraits;  I  don't  want  to  go  on  with 
them,  because  I  hope  and  pray  that  it's  in  me  to 
paint  something  that  will  say  more." 

"You  told  me  the  other  day  you  were  'de- 
lighted' when  you  got  Mr.  Waldehast's  letter?" 

"I  was  delighted  because  the  commission  was 
a  valuable  one.  And  I've  done  my  best  to 
deserve  it ;  I  put  in  as  much  work  as  Mrs.  Walde- 
hast  would  allow — and  a  good  deal  more  than 
would  have  been  discreet  if  she  weren't  a  very 
patient  woman,  or  at  least  a  very  amiable  one. 
But  a  portrait's  interest  is  generally  limited  to 
the  domestic  circle  and  to  other  artists.  Technique 
alone  never  made  a  great  work  of  art.  The  goal 
of  art  is  the  soul  of  the  world — the  highest  art 
illumines  a  more  inspiring  truth  than  the  charac- 
ter of  Mr.  So-and-so." 

"What  kind  of  pictures  do  you  do?" 

"I  like  the  symbolic  school  best,  but  any  sub- 
ject that  uplifts  is  a  great  one." 

"Supposing  they  don't  pay  so  well  as  Mr.  So- 
and-so?  That's  possible,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  much  more  than  possible;  but  my  chief 


8  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

aim  isn't  to  make  money.  The  point  is,  that 
whatever  advantages  anyone  may  have  ought  to 
be  directed  to  the  noblest  ends.  It  doesn't 
matter  what  one's  medium  is — whether  one  is  a 
painter,  or  a  priest,  or  a  statesman,  or  a  private 
citizen — one  ought  to  put  forth  one's  best  for  the 
benefit  of  one's  country.  That's  one's  duty  to 
one's  country.  It's  possible  also  that  I  may 
prove  to  have  nothing  but  the  ideal,  that  the  force 
mayn't  be  there.  I  daresay  I  sounded  vain — 
you  wouldn't  think  me  vain  if  you  knew  how 
frightfully  I  distrust  myself;  I  often  think  that 
anybody  on  earth  could  paint  as  well  as  I  do  if  he 
took  as  much  pains.  I've  no  facility;  other  men 
can  knock  things  off  in  a  day  that  take  me  a 
week.  I  may  fail — and  I  shall  be  wretched,  be- 
cause I  know  that,  with  me,  it's  art  first  and 
patriotism  afterwards;  but  I  shall  have  been  a 
good  Englishman  for  all  that.  And  I'd  rather 
fail  by  being  true  to  my  conscience  than  make  a 
popular  success  by  being  false.  Am  I  a  bore?" 

"No,  but  I  haven't  climbed  up  there  yet." 

"I'm  grateful  you  didn't  pretend  that  you  had. 
It's  where  most  people  either  lie  or  laugh." 

She  frowned.  "Do  you  confide  in  most 
people?" 

"I  never  confided  in  any  other  woman  in  my 
life — and  in  very  few  men." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  9 

"Oh,"  her  glance  approved;  "I'll  get  there  in 
time!  You  shall  talk  to  me  about  it  again." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shan't  have  the  chance;  I  was 
going  to  tell  you — I'm  going  back  sooner  than  I 
intended." 

"Why?"  It  was  uttered  a  second  late,  but  the 
tone  was  faultless. 

"I  think  it  would  be  as  well." 

"Surely  New  York  is  the  place  for  you  to  be 
in  just  now?" 

"I  think  on  the  whole  it  would  be  as  well  to 
go  back,"  he  said. 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  to  go." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Keith  in  his  throat.  *Tm 
very  sorry,  but  I  must.  I  shall  often  think  of 
my  trip  to  America." 

After  the  least  pause,  she  said  reproachfully, 
"I  hope  the  prospect  is  a  very  brilliant  one?  Of 
course  if  your  business  is  so  urgent,  you  can't 
be  expected  to  neglect  it  for  the  sake  of  your 
friends." 

"I'm  not  leaving  for  business  reasons,"  he 
acknowledged. 

"Is  there  someone  in  England  who's  so  sweet 
that  you  can't  bear  to  be  away  from  her?" 

"I  think  that  you  know  there  isn't." 

Her  head  was  bent;  she  tapped  time  with  her 
fan  to  the  waltz  of  "Sammy"  in  the  ballroom. 


10  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"If  you  aren't  running  after  a  girl,  I  guess  you 
must  be  running  away  from  one?  .  .  .  Isn't 
that  weak?" 

"No — necessary.  It's  quite  impossible  that  I 
could  ever  marry  that  girl,  and  I've  got  to  recon- 
cile myself  to  the  fact;  I  should  never  reconcile 
myself  to  it  while  I  went  on  seeing  her.  I  can't 
afford  to  feel  as  I've  been  feeling  lately — I've 
got  my  work  to  think  about.  So  the  sooner  I  go 
the  better.  I'm  not  sacrificing  any  chance  by 
going — don't  imagine  that! — no  frenzied  ad- 
mirers of  my  work  will  miss  me." 

"Perhaps  the  girl  will  miss  you,  though,"  sug- 
gested Miss  Lynch. 

"I  haven't  the  conceit  to  think  so;  I  don't 
want  to  think  so." 

The  pearls  and  lilies  on  her  breast  rose  faster. 
"If  I  were  you  I  would !" 

"It's  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  propose  to 
her,  or  to  say  that  I  care  for  her,"  he  insisted 
thickly. 

"If  she  likes  you,  she  won't  think  it  out  of  the 
question.  .  .  .  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  who 
it  is  you're  running  away  from?" 

He  didn't  speak.    His  mouth  was  set  hard. 

"Is  it  me?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him.    There 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  11 

was  nearly  a  line  of  "Sammy"  before  her  voice 
came: 

"Mr.  Keith,  I  have  been  called  the  'proudest 
girl  in  New  York,'  but  I'm  going  to  say  an  im- 
modest thing  right  here."  The  lips  trembled,  and 
he  saw  the  throbbing  of  her  throat.  "I  want  you 
to  ask  me  to  be  your  wife." 

He  grabbed  both  her  hands  and  bowed  his  face 
on  them.  "I  can't!"  he  said. 

"You've  got  to."  She  smiled  victoriously. 
"Betty  Lynch  doesn't  let  her  millions  spoil  her 
happiness." 

"You  don't  understand.  I  can't,  it's  impos- 
sible!" 

"You're  not — married?" 

"Married?  No!  But  I  couldn't  give  you  a 
home  that  you'd  live  in." 

"And  I  don't  let  your  foolishness  spoil  my 
happiness  either — that's  just  why  I  said  what  I 
did.  We  need  not  be  anxious  about  the  home." 

"I  couldn't  stand  that,  I  wouldn't  do  it!" 

"I  fear  I  have  proposed  to  you,"  she  mur- 
mured, dimpling.  "It  would  be  too  bad  if  I 
were  refused." 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Keith  desperately,  "I 
honour  and  adore  you  for  what  you  said.  I'd 
give  twenty  years  of  my  life  to  marry  you.  But 


12  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

I  can't.  To  begin  with,  your  father  would,  of 
course,  forbid  the  engagement." 

"My  father  would  never  forbid  me  anything." 

"Then  he  would  give  you  a  million  or  so,  and 
I  should  be  asked  to  share  it.  And  I  couldn't." 

She  drew  her  hands  free.  "Do  you  mean,"  she 
said  coldly,  "that  you  would  rather  give  me  up 
than  swallow  your  pride?  /  swallowed  some  for 
you  just  now." 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  'pride';  I'd  put  pride 
in  the  gutter  for  you." 

"What  else  is  it?  It  isn't  love.  I  don't 
admire  it.  It's  talking  like  a  man  in  a  book." 

"Don't!"  stammered  Keith.  "If  you  knew 
what  I'm  feeling!" 

"I  think  I  do  know — you  feel  more  esteem  for 
yourself  than  for  me.  No  man  who  was  really 
fond  of  a  girl  would  consent  to  lose  her  because 
•  she  had  more  money  than  Tie  had.  Not  if  she 
were  as  rich  as  I,  and  he  were  as  poor  as  a  tramp ! 
No,  human  nature  doesn't  do  those  things.  If  he 
were  without  a  meal,  if  he  hadn't  a  cent  in  his 
pocket  or  shoes  to  his  feet,  and  she  said  what  I 
have  said  to  yon,  he  would  try  his  best  to  marry 
her  if  he  loved  her.  It  would  be  his  duty,  and 
her  due." 

"And  so  would  I,"  gasped  Keith,  "if  that  were 
all!" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  13 

"If  it  were  'all'?"  Her  startled  eyes  widened 
at  him  pitiably,  she  turned  dead-white.  "Oh! 
you  mean  you  .  .  .  don't  approve  of  my  father's 
methods?  You  mean  you  would  think  it  .  .  . 
a  disgrace  ?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake!  I  couldn't  live  on  his 
money,  leave  it  at  that!  I  can't  talk  about  it. 
But  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  Betty." 

"Love?  You  have  thrown  my  father's  reputa- 
tion in  my  face,  you  have  told  me  I  am  too  dis- 
honest for  you." 

"You?  You?  Oh,  my  darling — the  money, 
not  you !" 

"It  is  the  money  that  keeps  me,"  she  said  pain- 
fully. "Oh,  I  know  what  they  say  about  the 
Trust! — I  read.  I  hear  of  the  people  ruined,  and 
the  broken  homes,  and — and  it  doesn't  make  me 
/eel  good  when  I  think  about  it.  But  I  spend 
such  a  lot.  It  is  the  money  that  buys  my  frocks, 
and  candy,  and  flowers;  it  is  the  money  that 
pays  for  the  food  I  eat  and  the  house  I  live  in. 
If  you  care  for  me  as  you  wish  me  to  believe,  and 
yet  would  rather  lose  me  than  let  my  father  make 
us  happy,  then  you  are  telling  me  the  money  is 
so  shameful  that  I  am  a  thief  to  take  it." 

"I  tell  you  I  adore  you.  I  want  you  as  I  never 
wanted  anything  else  on  earth.  I  don't  re- 
proach you,  I  don't,  I  don't!  You  were  brought 


14  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

up  to  take  it,  and — and,  besides  what  else  could 
you  have  done?  But  I'm  different — I'm  used  to 
roughing  it,  and  I've  got  my  work — and  if  I  were 
weak  enough  to  profit  by  a  tyranny  that  has 
horrified  and  revolted  me  ever  since  I  understood 
what  it  meant,  I  should  be  a  cur,  and  our  'happi- 
ness' would  be  no  happiness,  it  would  be  hell." 

Miss  Lynch  rose  haughtily.  "I  had  thought 
that  to  say  to  any  man  what  I  have  said  must  be 
as  great  a  humiliation  as  a  girl  could  know;  my 
affront  to  myself  is  bearable  compared  with  the 
indignities  I  have  suffered  from  you" 

"Betty,"  he  cried,  "my  whole  income  in  a 
lucky  year  hasn't  been  half  of  what  you  spent  on 
the  candy  and  flowers;  but  I'm  getting  on,  I'll  do 
better  for  you  one  day  if  you'll  only  be  patient, 
and  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  you  might  wipe  your 
boots  on  my  heart!  You  may  think  me  a  mad- 
man for  asking,  but  I'd  worship  you — will  you 
marry  me  on  what  I've  got?" 

"Mr.  Keith,  you  will  please  take  me  back  to 
the  room,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  his  palace  in  Fifth  Avenue,  in  his  splendid 
study  lined  with  books,  none  of  which  he  had 
ever  read,  an  old  man  sat  awaiting  Betty's  return 
from  the  dance.  This  was  Jordan  B.  Lynch.  He 
had  struggled  as  "Bill  Lynch."  Towards  middle 
age  he  had  adopted  the  "Jordan"  and  curtailed 
the  "Bill." 

He  bent  smoking  moodily  over  the  fire.  It  was 
nearly  midnight,  and  a  desk  in  the  room  was 
heaped  with  the  letters  that  had  come  to  his  pri- 
vate address  during  the  day.  There  were  des- 
perate letters  from  men  whom  the  Trust  and  its 
radiating  forces  had  broken;  frantic  entreaties 
from  destitute  women  and  girls  whose  husbands, 
or  fathers,  or  brothers  his  operations  had  decoyed 
to  disgrace  or  death;  indictments  from  philan- 
thropists, warnings  from  clergymen,  who  threat- 
ened his  rapacity  with  Heaven's  wrath.  Lynch, 
however,  had  not  opened  any  of  the  letters,  nor 
would  any  of  them  be  laid  before  him. 

At  the  beginnning  such  things  had  disturbed 
him.  Later  they  had  angered  him.  It  was  the 

15 


16  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

law  of  nature  for  the  weak  to  suffer ;  why  abuse 
him  for  it  ?  he  demanded.  Finally,  they  had  come 
to  minister  to  his  pride.  These  daily  budgets  of 
appeals  for  mercy,  these  admonitions  overflowing 
the  waste-baskets  were  an  emblem  of  his  con- 
quest ;  they  testified  to  the  triumph  of  his  career, 
more  than  his  magnificent  library  that  had  no 
literary  interest  for  him,  and  his  famous  pictures 
that  he  never  looked  at.  As  a  burden  on  indigent 
parents  in  the  Black  Country,  he  had  been  a 
wage-earner  as  a  child;  as  an  emigrant  he  had 
been  tortured  by  the  sight  of  small  chances  that 
he  was  too  poor  to  seize.  He  had  hoarded, 
scraped,  stinted  his  stomach  for  years — and  been 
robbed  of  his  first  five  hundred  dollars.  He  had 
rinsed  glasses  behind  a  bar  on  a  Mississippi 
steamer,  had  wrung  a  bare  living  from  the  earth 
in  California;  had  planned,  climbed,  fallen;  set 
his  teeth  and  sweated ;  climbed  again ;  prospected, 
speculated,  taken,  with  undaunted  eyes,  the  risk 
of  being  dashed  to  the  bottom  once  more.  And, 
by  the  grace  of  grit,  he  was  Jordan  B.  Lynch, 
who  had  the  world  by  its  throat — and  the  world 
might  squeak ! 

Poverty  prolonged — grim,  gaunt,  grinding 
poverty — brutalises.  Of  all  the  cant  acclaimed, 
none  is  rottener  than  the  pretence  that  poverty 
ennobles  character. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  17 

But  to-night,  as  he  bent  smoking  over  the  fire, 
the  weazen  old  man  was  not  thinking  of  his 
conquest,  he  was  thinking  of  his  children. 

He  had  been  fifty  when  he  married,  already  a 
menace  to  two  continents;  and  when  a  son 
came,  the  piratical  financier  who  hewed  his  road 
through.the  misfortunes  of  a  multitude  had  taken 
an  innocent  delight  in  providing  for  his  boy  a 
plenitude  of  the  pleasures  that  he  himself  had 
.missed.  It  was  the  father's  caprice,  not  the 
mother's,  that  converted  a  spacious  nursery  into  a 
range  of  mountains,  on  which  bears,  formidable 
in  real  bearskin,  roamed  as  large  as  life  after  one 
turned  .keys  in  them.  Jordan  B.  Lynch's  little 
heir,  with  a  pop-gun,  was  entertained  for  an  hour 
by  trying  to.hit  them  before  their  clockwork  ran 
down.  Of  course  there  were  other  nurseries. 
One  of  them*  contained  a  domesticated  diving- 
bell,  descending  to  an  aquarium,  where,  on  a  floor 
of  sea-shells  and  coral  reefs,  a  mermaid  sang, 
with  a  gramophone  inside  her. 

The  child  had  been  bored  very  young,  but  to 
the  man  the  view  of  such  follies  had  yielded  a 
permanent  satisfaction — his  own  bitter  childhood, 
which  he  had  always  remembered  with  resent- 
ment, ceased  to  chafe  him  like  a  bad,  debt.  The 
advent  of  a  daughter  had  been  a  disappointment, 
for  he  had  wanted  another  son;  but  after  the 


18  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

death  of  his  wife  it  was  Betty  who  became  the 
dearer  child.  At  first  she  charmed  him  more 
because  she  resembled  her  mother;  it  gratified 
him  that  his  girl  looked  of  gentle  birth.  Howard's 
features  were  rough-cast,  like  his  own.  Later 
she  was  his  favourite  because  she  showed  him  the 
more  affection.  To  his  daughter  his  profusion 
was  ever  more  ebullient  than  to  his  son. 

Yet  he  never  said  "no"  to  the  boy.  His 
children  must  have  everything — the  luxury,  the 
education,  the  fun  that  had  been  withheld  from 
him!  Even  because  his  own  youth  had  been  so 
sordid,  he  found  a  covert  fascination  in  their 
extravagance.  When  he  saw  the  bills,  he  smiled 
wryly,  recalling  the  ferocity  of  life  to  himself  at 
their  age.  The  secretaries  who  corrected  his 
English  had  been  much  diverted  to  see  the 
financial  leader  engrossed  by  the  lad's  first  dress 
suit;  Lynch  was  reflecting  that  the  first  dress 
suit  that  he  himself  had  put  on  had  been  ordered 
when  he  was  forty. 

In  his  commercial  aspect,  corrupt  and  ruthless, 
he  was  a  tender  father ;  and  a  genius  in  finance,  he 
lacked  foresight  in  his  home.  He  had  lived  to 
deplore  his  indulgence  of  Howard,  with  the 
quintessence  of  remorse  which  many,  who  are 
untroubled  by  a  sin,  may  suffer  for  a  stupidity. 
The  drollery  of  having  a  man  of  fashion  for  a  son 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  19 

had  long  ceased  to  tickle  the  old  adventurer. 
The  denseness  of  Lynch  junior  to  the  financial 
alphabet  was  a  prank  of  nature's — neither  of 
them  was  to  be  blamed  for  that,  continuously 
galling  as  the  senior  found  it;  the  uppishness 
might  pass;  the  blank  deficiency  of  purpose 
might  have  permitted  optimism  in  a  parent.  But 
Lynch  had  docketed  his  son  "worthless"  when  he 
realised  that  the  young  man  dissipated  without 
zest;  a  profligacy  of  vehemence  would  have  left 
hope  of  reform,  a  profligacy  of  lassitude  left 
none. 

He  had  made  no  illusions  for  himself — the 
crowd  who  justly  reviled  him  would  have  been 
glad  to  read  his  thoughts — his  only  son  was  a 
failure!  But  there  had  remained  Betty — Betty, 
whose  Fifth  Avenue  tone  was  the  only  music  he 
appreciated — his  girl,  who  wore  her  frocks  like  a 
real  aristocrat!  The  surviving  ambitions  of  his 
fatherhood  were  absorbed  by  her.  He  had  hoped 
to  see  her  bearing  a  great  name,  had  dreamed  of 
it.  He  would  give  her  to  no  illustrious  pauper 
who  meant  to  scatter  her  millions  and  neglect 
her;  she  should  choose  a  noble  who  was  rich  al- 
ready, one  who  would  love  her  honestly,  and 
whom  she'd  love.  He  had  imagined  the  ancestral 
home,  the  crest  on  her  carriage,  a  score  of  child- 
ish details  that  were  sweet  to  picture  because  they 


20  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

meant  the  exaltation  of  Betty.  And  now  Betty 
had  as  good  as  told  him  she  was  fond  of  some 
artist ! 

The  street  bell  sounded,  and  Lynch  opened 
the  study  door,  in  the  thought  that  the  girl  had 
returned ;  but  it  was  Howard  who  had  rung,  hav- 
ing forgotten  his  latchkey. 

"Hello,"  he  said  languidly,  seeing  Lynch  still 
up,  "you're  late!" 

"Hello,"  said  Lynch,  "you're  early!" 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  met  that  day. 

"I  know;  why  haven't  you  gone  to  bed?" 

"I'm  waiting  for  Betty." 

"Where's  she  gone?" 

"The  Waldehasts'.  She  expected  you  to  take 
her." 

"Me?  I  never  said  I'd  go,  did  I?"  He 
lounged  into  the  room,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
Though  he  took  infinite  pains  in  dressing  himself, 
he  did  no  credit  to  his  tailor;  and  the  fashion 
which  ordained  that  his  sandy  hair  should  be 
parted  in  the  centre  and  plastered  behind  his 
projecting  ears  was  not  becoming  to  him. 
"What's  the  news?" 

"W-e-11,  there  is  the  news  of  your  'pastoral 
dinner'  last  night,"  snarled  Lynch. 

"Oh?"     He  put  his   hands   in  his  trouser- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  21 

pockets  and  smiled  impudently  over  his  father's 
head. 

"I  see  that  the  restaurant  was  'converted  into 
a  meadow.' ' 

"The  likeness  wasn't  very  faithful,  but  that 
was  the  notion,"  drawled  the  young  man. 

" The  Herald  says  'a  rivulet  of  champagne 
sparkled  between  banks  of  orchids.' ' 

"I  hope  The  Day  was  just  as  picturesque.  I 
never  read  it,  but  I  have  a  filial  interest  in  its 
circulation." 

"You're  very  humorous,"  said  Lynch,  "very 
Harvardy  and  brilliant!  Is  it  indispensable  at 
dinner  in  your  set  for  the  ladies  to  'pick  diamonds 
from  a  strawberry  bed,  as  souvenirs'?" 

"No.    That  was  an  innovation  of  my  own." 

"It  was  a  great  scheme." 

"So  /  thought.  They  did  scramble!  I  saw 
all  the  frenzy  of  a  bargain-sale  without  being 
damaged  by  the  crush." 

"You  might  have  done  so  if  you  had  been 
earning  ten  dollars  a  week  behind  a  counter! ' 
said  his  father  acridly. 

"Ah,"  Howard  looked  disconcerted;  "your 
repartee — if  I  may  mention  it,  sir — is  vulgar." 

He  mixed  a  generous  highball  and  there  was 
a  long  silence.  Lynch  blinked  at  the  fire,  mourn- 
ing mistakes. 


23  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Warmed  by  the  whisky,  Howard  grew  faceti- 
ous. "Brace  up!"  he  murmured.  "I  haven't 
broken  you." 

"You  have  not  broken  me — financially." 

"What?  .  .  .  Oh,  parentally!  Don't  be  senti- 
mental, governor;  it  doesn't  suit  you.  Take  it 
easy.  If  you  knew  how  deadly  dull  life  is,  you 
wouldn't  call  me  down  for  trying  to  get  a  gleam 
of  fun.  Anyhow,  I  see  you  gave  half  a  million 
to  the  Nixonville  Institute  this  week;  if  you  can 
afford  Institutes,  you  can  spare  me  a  dinner." 

"My  charities  do  good — to  me;  they  are 
policy." 

"Well,  it  does  you  good  that  I  make  a  few 
debts.  If  /  spend  it  while  you  scoop  it  in,  people 
won't  have  so  much  to  howl  about.  That's  policy 
too!  You  don't  do  my  brains  justice,  you  know. 
My  schemes  are  subtle;  you  want  to  think  'em 
out.  You  ought  to  charge  the  dinner  to  your 
charity  account!"  He  giggled.  "I  take  Roose- 
velt's point  of  view;  he  doesn't  approve  of  for- 
tunes 'swollen  beyond  healthy  limits.'  Nor  do 
I — I'm  doing  my  best  to  cope  with  a  national 
evil." 

He  emptied  his  glass,  and  sauntered  towards 
the  door  with  a  nod.  "Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  grunted  Lynch.    He  hesitated. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  23 

"Say,  Howard!  D'ye  know  anything  of  that 
fellow  Keith?" 

"Keith?" 

"That  artist  that  Betty  asked  to  the  house? 
He  was  unable  to  come,  but  I  have  heard  her 
speak  about  him." 

"Oh!  No;  I've  only  seen  him  once.  I  don't 
meet  him — he's  nothing,  he's  an  artist,  he's  stay- 
ing in  a  boarding-house." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"He  mentioned  it  himself  at  the  Waldehasts' ; 
didn't  seem  ashamed  of  it,  either — doesn't  'know/ 
I  suppose.  Why?" 

"Well,  Betty  is  interested  in  him.  I  wondered 
why  she  had  asked  him  home,  and  I  taxed  her 
with  it." 

"What?  Do  you  mean  she—  Oh,  rats! 
She  may  have  flirted  with  him — he's  all  right  to 
look  at,  except  for  his  clothes;  she  wouldn't 
understand  about  them." 

"Well — I  guess  you're  right,"  said  Lynch, 
seeing  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  learnt. 
"Good-night." 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Betty  came  in.  As 
she  crossed  the  room  she  was  almost  as  pale  as 
she  had  been  when  Keith's  meaning  broke  upon 
her;  the  look  in  her  eyes  puzzled  the  old  man. 
But  his  tone  was  innocent. 


24  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

/ 

"Well?    Had  a  good  time,  poppet?" 

"I'm  very  tired,  father,"  she  said  in  a  strained 
voice.  "I'm  going  straight  upstairs." 

"I  have  been  saving  my  last  cigar  to  smoke 
with  you.  Can't  you  spare  me  five  minutes?" 

She  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  a  hand  clenched 
on  the  marble:  "I  have  nothing  to  say  to-night." 

"Howard  claims  that  he  never  promised  to 
take  you — he  came  in  a  while  ago." 

"Oh?" 

"Anybody  there?  Your  friend  was  there,  I 
guess?" 

She  nodded,  with  her  mouth  squeezed. 

He  got  up,  and  touched  her. 

"He  was  there,  and  we  talked,  and  I  asked  him 
to  marry  me!"  said  the  girl  in  an  outburst. 
And  she  slid  crookedly  into  a  chair  and  sobbed  as 
if  she  would  break  a  blood-vessel,  with  her  face 
laid  on  the  arm. 

Lynch  himself  was  scarcely  less  moved.  Her 
words  dismissed  his  last  hope.  The  highest  ex- 
pectation of  his  life  had  collapsed. 

"W-e-11,"  he  said,  "I  guess  the  Queen  may  do 
these  things.  Don't  break  up  like  that,  poppet; 
you've  nothing  to  blush  for — he  couldn't  ask  you, 
that's  certain.  I  ain't  going  to  raise  Cain,  you 
know;  if  you  want  to  marry  him,  you've  just  got 
to  marry  him,  there's  no  doubt  about  it.  So  dry 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  25 

your  eyes,  and  sit  round,  and  I'll  light  that  cigar 
-see?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  marry  him,"  she  answered, 
raising  herself. 

The  old  man  stared  at  her  speechlessly. 
"What?"  he  said  at  last. 

"He — he  made  conditions." 

"How's  that?  he  'made  conditions'?  You 
offered  to  marry  him,  and  he  'made  conditions'  ?" 

"He  said  I  must  marry  him  on  what  he  had 
got;  that  he  wouldn't  take  anything  from  you, 
not  a  cent!" 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Lynch,  on  a  laugh.  "Don't 
you  fret  your  eyes  red  about  that!" 

"It's  real,  he  means  it.  He  thinks  our  money's 
tainted,  he  said  it  'revolted'  him,  he  said  he  would 
rather  lose  me  than  touch  it.  Oh,  I  am  ashamed ! 
He  degraded  me !  I  sat  there  feeling  like  a  thief. 
You  don't  know  what  it  was !  I  loved  him,  and 
I  couldn't  look  him  in  the  face — I  couldn't  defend 
my  own  father.  Oh,  if  I  could  have  changed 
places  with  any  decent  girl  in  New  York,  I  might 
have  been  so  happy  to-night!" 

"Honey!"  he  pleaded,  trembling  over  her. 
"My  honey,  baby— don't!" 

"Is  it  so  bad  as  they  say?  Tell  me.  I've  been 
a  coward,  I  haven't  talked,  but  I'm  not  blind — 


36  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

you  must  know  I  know.  I've  got  to  understand 
now,  I've  got  to  know  just  what  I  am!" 

"You're  one  of  the  wealthiest  girls  in  the 
world,"  he  faltered.  "Is  that  good  enough?" 

"No!  There's  not  a  girl  clerking  in  this  city 
who  has  been  degraded  as  your  daughter  was  to- 
night. I've  got  to  know  just  what  I  am,  I've 
got  to  know  if  he  was  justified." 

"Betty,"  said  Lynch,  "it  is  mainly  for  you  I 
am  working — I  am  not  piling  up  millions  for 
Howard  to  squander  them  when  I  go.  You  know 
I  have  aimed  at  seeing  you  an  English  duchess — 
I  have  sometimes  even — er — knuckled  under,  in 
view  of  my  ambitions  for  you.  Don't  ask  me  if 
I  have  justified  a  man  in  insulting  you." 

"I  don't  want  the  millions  if  they  bring  me  con- 
tempt— I'm  a  woman,  and  I  loved  him,  and  I 
want  the  right  to  tell  him  that  he  lied!" 

"Well,  of  course,  of  course  he  lied,"  said  Lynch 
soothingly.  "He  doesn't  know ;  you  say  he  is  an 
artist — what  knowledge  has  he  of  finance?  I 
guess  he  has  read  a  leader  in  The  Flag  and  been 
stuffed ;  why  doesn't  he  read  The  Day?  See  here, 
there's  not  a  business  going,  however  small  it  may 
be,  that  hasn't  got  its  smaller  enemies :  the  green- 
horn that  has  opened  a  little  dry-goods  store  in 
a  village  is  cursed  by  the  pedlar,  who  don't  need 
to  come  around  there  any  more;  the  pedlar  says 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  27 

the  greenhorn  is  a  'monopolist,  crushing  competi- 
tion.' Even  the  pedlar  is  attacked — there  is  an- 
other pedlar  in  the  same  district,  who  growls  that 
the  first  fellow's  pack  is  too  big.  Through  all 
commercial  and  industrial  enterprise,  poppet,  it 
is  the  same  thing;  but  the  larger  the  pack,  the 
louder  the  growl." 

"It  sounds  all  right,"  she  admitted  weakly; 
"but  then,  I  want  to  believe  it!" 

"You've  just  got  to  believe  it.  Don't  you  go 
looking  for  trouble.  In  this  life  it's  every  man 
for  himself,  and  the  only  man  who  pretends  dif- 
ferent is  the  one  who's  so  weak-kneed  that  he 
wants  somebody  else  to  shove  him  along.  The 
'wicked  monopolist'  don't  monopolise  selfishness. 
See  those  letters  on  the  desk?  I  haven't  touched 
them — I  don't  hire  secretaries  in  order  to  pass 
my  day  reading  what  don't  concern  me — but  there 
are  two  things  I  can  tell  you  about  them  right 
here.  They're  all  begging  letters  from  strang- 
ers, who  recognise  that  if  I  gave  to  all  the  beg- 
gars who  write  me,  I'd  be  selling  bananas  on  the 
street;  and  every  stranger  has  marked  his  letter 
'private,'  to  get  an  advantage  over  the  other 
stranger." 

"Some  of  them  may  be  deserving,  for  all  that," 
she  said. 

"Have  I  time  to  sort  them?    Can  I  neglect 


28  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

business  while  I  convert  myself  into  an  investi- 
gation bureau?  I  do  all  the  good  I  can,  without 
being  unjust  to  myself  and  my  children.  I  made 
a  gift  of  half  a  million  to  the  Nixonville  Institute 
only  this  week.  My  charities  are  very  numerous, 
and  they  are  my  joy  as  well  as  my  duty.  Had 
your  Mr.  Keith  any  comments  to  make  on  my 
charities?" 

She  stirred  in  the  chair  restlessly:  "No." 

"You're  going  to  tell  me  just  what  he  said; 
I  don't  allow  you  to  be  insulted." 

"He  said — well,  it  was  I  who  said  it  first:  I 
saw  what  he  meant  when  he  said  that  he  couldn't 
marry  me.  But  he  acknowledged  that  was  his 
reason.  He  said  he  wouldn't  talk  about  it.  He 
said  he  thought  the  Trust  revolting,  that  if  he 
lived  on  money  from — from  a  source  he  con- 
demned, he  would  be  a  'cur.'  He  wanted  me  to 
marry  him  on  what  he  has." 

"What's  that?" 

She  gave  a  shrug.    "Not  much." 

"Is  that  all. he  said?" 

"I  think  that's  all." 

"Well,  forget  about  him!  Have  a  good  time. 
I'll  send  you  to  Europe  with  Howard — the  Lon- 
don season '11  be  starting  soon — I'll  come  over 
myself  and  fix  up  that  presentation  at  Court  for 
you.  There's  nothing  smashed.  In  a  year  you'll 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  29 

wonder  what  you  saw  in  him  and  why  you  were 
so  wretched." 

"I  have  never  imagined  I  cared  seriously  for 
anyone  before,"  she  said.  "It's  very  easy  to  be 
cynical  about  other  people's  sorrows." 

"As  you  go  through  life,  poppet,  you'll  get 
experience  of  a  bitterer  cynic  than  me,  or  any 
other  man.  That's  Time!  W-e-11,  you  know  I 
wasn't  set  on  your  marrying  him,  and  I  am  a 
long  way  from  it  to-night,  but  if  you've  made 
your  mind  up,  go  ahead!  Don't  worry  yourself 
over  trifles ;  it  would  not  be  a  difficult  transaction 
to  persuade  a  man  to  take  an  income  for  noth- 
ing, plus  the  girl  he  loves." 

"I  wouldn't  marry  him  now  if  he  went  on  his 
knees  to  me!"  she  said  vehemently.  "Besides, 
he  meant  it,  I  tell  you,  he  meant  every  word." 

"I  have  met  cranks  already,  but  I  have  never 
met  one  yet  who  wasn't  amenable  to  reason 
through  his  pocket." 

"You  don't  know  him!"  There  was  a  little 
unconscious  pride  in  her  voice. 

"No,  but  I  know  human  nature.  .  .  .  See 
here,  when  I  made  your  mother's  acquaintance, 
she  hadn't  a  notion  who  I  was — I  had  gone  South 
incog.  The  rumpus  had  begun  even  then;  there 
was  some  of  the  poppycock  talked  in  those  days 
that  there  is  now.  Her  father  had  very  high  prin- 


30  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

ciples,  and  nothing  else — he  had  been  crippled 
by  the  War ;  the  twenty  thousand  that  he  left  to 
you  was  all  locked  up  in  sugar  at  that  time.  He 
spoke  to  me  about  the  'millionaire  Lynch  and 
his  methods'  as  he  might  have  spoken  about  the 
devil  and  all  his  works.  But  your  mother  was 
very  sweet;  I  liked  her.  So  one  day  I  said  to 
him,  'I'm  Lynch — and  I  want  to  marry  your 
daughter.'  W-e-11,  he  adopted  another  view  of 
my  methods !  ...  If  you  ask  me  to  do  so,  I  will 
smoke  a  cigar  with  Mr.  Keith,  and  he  will  see 
that  his  judgment  was  erroneous." 

"If  I  'ask  you  to  do  so'?"  she  said.  "If  you 
were  to  send  for  him,  I  could  never  lift  my  head 
again!  I'll  never  speak  another  word  to  him  as 
long  as  I  live — it  doesn't  matter  whether  I  forget 
or  not."  She  got  up,  and  righted  her  hair  with 
a  pretence  of  composure  before  a  mirror.  "Don't 
you  think  we've  stayed  here  late  enough  talking 
about  Mr.  Keith?" 


CHAPTER  III 

AFTER  he  left  the  dance,  Richard  Keith  walked 
miles  blindly.  A  few  hours  earlier  he  had  meant 
to  leave  her,  had  been  almost  resigned  to  leaving 
her,  but  in  the  interval  the  unforeseen  had  hap- 
pened; she  had  said  she  cared  for  him,  and  he 
had  insulted  her — and  she  was  much  dearer  to 
him  than  she  had  been  a  few  hours  earlier.  Be- 
fore the  dance  he  had  thought  that  there  could 
be  nothing  more  impossible  than  for  him  to  ask 
Miss  Lynch  to  marry  him.  But  he  had  asked 
her ;  and  now,  in  spite  of  her  repulse  and  his  dis- 
tress of  mind — in  spite  of  common  sense  itself — 
the  hope  persisted. 

He  tried  to  view  the  marriage  with  her  eyes, 
and  shrank  aghast  from  the  magnitude  of  her 
sacrifice.  Yet  he  prayed  that  she  would  make 
it.  He  wanted  it  not  only  for  his  sake;  because 
he  loved  her  he  wanted  it  for  hers.  "I  know 
about  the  people  ruined,  and  the  broken  homes  I" 
The  words  had  been  hideous  on  her  lips.  Yes, 
she  knew!  Not  the  whole,  not  a  tithe,  she  did 
not  see  the  suicides'  blood  or  their  daughters' 

31 


32  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

helplessness — the  victims'  cries  did  not  pierce  the 
music  in  the  mansions;  from  her  carriage  win- 
dow she  could  not  read  the  histories  of  Magda- 
lens  in  the  street.  But  vaguely  she  knew — and 
he  hungered  for  her  to  be  worthier,  he  yearned 
for  her  to  be  as  noble  as  she  looked. 

Alternately  he  wondered  if  he  was  insane  to 
dream  of  her  consenting,  and  if  he  would  be 
justified  in  pleading  to  her.  Could  she  be  happy 
as  his  wife?  Her  sacrifice  would  not  abate  the 
suffering — if  her  shame  satisfied  her,  perhaps  his 
appeal  would  be  grossly  selfish?  But  he  could 
not  think  it  would  be  selfish  after  what  she  had 
owned.  Though  in  her  presence  he  felt  a  pauper, 
he  was  indeed  a  rising  man — she  would  not  starve 
in  his  arms.  The  last  two  years  had  brought 
recognition  and  a  banking  account.  A  balance 
of  a  few  hundred  pounds  and  Mr.  Waldehast's 
cheque  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars  represented  a 
stately  monument  on  the  road  of  his  life. 

His  father  had  been  a  clergyman  because  the 
Church  had  called  to  him,  not  because  there  was 
a  living  in  the  family;  indeed,  expedience  had 
pointed  in  another  direction.  A  painfully  inade- 
quate stipend  had  been  eked  out  by  a  slender  pri- 
vate income.  The  widow  had  invested  the  prin- 
cipal in  a  bubble  company,  and  found  herself 
penniless  while  the  boy  was  at  a  student  hotel 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  33 

in  Montparnasse.  He  had  been  wrenched  from 
Montparnasse  to  enter  an  office  in  East  India 
Avenue,  where  her  brother-in-law  generously 
paid  him  more  than  his  services  were  worth,  and 
ungenerously  reminded  him  of  it.  From  the  time 
Keith  was  nineteen  until  his  mother  died  he  had 
been  breadwinner  for  them  both,  and  simulated 
cheerfulness.  If  the  clerk  wept  for  the  art  stu- 
dent, he  wore  no  mourning  for  him,  nor  did  he 
doubt  that  he  would  reach  his  mistress  at  the  end. 
The  journey  would  be  longer  and  rougher,  that 
was  all !  The  widow  heard  no  murmurs.  He  was 
an  automaton  by  day  and  an  enthusiast  by  night; 
the  cipher  in  the  city  office  laboured  like  a  hero  in 
the  Clapham  lodgings.  And  of  course  the  lady 
thought  it  a  pity:  "He  would  get  a  much  better 
position  with  his  uncle  if  he  only  took  more  in- 
terest in  the  business — she  was  speaking  for  his 
own  good!" 

But  the  inner  voice  was  stronger.  He  had 
drawn  before  he  could  spell,  drawn  on  his  slate, 
on  the  walls  of  his  nursery — and  been  punished 
for  it — drawn  on  the  backs  of  his  father's  ser- 
mons— drawn,  as  many  children  lie,  because  it 
was  an  imperative  and  unreasoning  instinct.  It 
had  been  instinct  that  riveted  him  before  the 
Turner  water-colours  one  day  when  "art"  was 
an  unknown  name,  when  he  knew  only  that  each 


34  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

separate  piece  of  paper  seemed  to  have  caught 
all  the  light  and  loveliness  of  the  world.  His 
mother  had  run  into  the  National  Gallery  with 
him,  during  a  visit  to  London,  for  shelter  from 
the  rain,  and  the  child  understood  that  she 
thought  him  a  little  noodle  when  she  saw  his 
eyes.  The  clerk  understood  that  she  thought 
him  a  fool  when  she  saw  him  paint.  To  the  aver- 
age mind  there  is  nothing  sillier  than  genius  be- 
fore it  is  renowned.  Afterwards,  the  renown  is 
admired. 

At  her  death  the  office  had  been  abandoned 
that  he  might  have  more  time  to  study.  His 
abject  poverty  had  not  been  sufficiently  pro- 
longed to  dull  his  ideals,  but  he  had  often  been 
dinnerless  and  even  homeless,  and  for  years  the 
income  from  his  art  had  not  equalled  the  salary 
from  his  clerkship.  To-day,  if  he  had  not  been 
in  love  with  the  daughter  of  a  millionaire,  he 
would  have  been  elated  by  his  pecuniary  posi- 
tion; four  to  five  hundred  a  year  was  conspicu- 
ous, for  his  age.  Besides,  he  hoped  that  his  prices 
would  improve  much  more.  Although  the  man 
was  too  truly  an  artist  to  seek  popular  success 
at  the  cost  of  doing  inferior  work,  he  was  too 
truly  an  artist  to  be  indifferent  to  wealth.  Wealth 
is  the  master-key  to  beauty — to  travel  in  beauti- 
ful places,  to  the  collection  of  beautiful  things. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  35 

Keith  desired  riches  ardently,  though  he  put  his 
conscience  first. 

No,  wild  it  might  be  to  aspire  to  marry  her, 
but  not  selfish,  he  thought,  for  she  cared  for  him. 
Since  it  was  for  him  she  cared,  he  naturally  over- 
estimated the  importance  of  her  caring.  Lightly 
as  a  man  thinks  of  a  girl's  tenderness  for  any 
other  man,  he  is  apt  to  think  it  an  imperishable 
influence  in  her  life  if  her  tenderness  is  for  him- 
self. Brown  and  Jones  are  always  secretly 
amused  at  Robinson's  fear  that  Miss  Green  will 
break  her  heart  if  he  has  to  give  her  up:  "Dear 
old  chap,  Robinson,  one  of  the  best,  but  his  idea 
that  he  is  an  object  of  profound  devotion  is  rather 
comic."  But  Brown  and  Jones  similarly  exag- 
gerate the  feelings  that  they  have  inspired  in  the 
Misses  Pink  and  White.  It  is  not  vanity,  it  is 
faith;  the  desirable  lover  accepts  the  girl's  own 
view  of  her  emotions — and  the  girl  who  doesn't 
imagine  her  love  to  be  lifelong  is  not  worth  mar- 
rying. 

It  was  daybreak  when  Richard  Keith  re-en- 
tered the  boarding-house  to  which  he  had  fled 
dismayed  after  a  few  weeks'  experience  of  hotel 
terms;  and  a  letter  from  him  was  brought  to 
Betty  when  she  woke — a  long,  remorseful,  futile 
letter.  It  said  everything  but  what  she  wanted 
to  hear — that  he  withdrew  his  objection. 


36  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

To  most  people  it  is  fatally  easy  to  feel  con- 
vinced of  what  they  wish  to  believe.  Lynch's 
daughter  wished  to  believe  that  her  wealth  was 
honest.  Though  Keith  was  by  no  means  essential 
to  her  happiness,  she  fancied  that  he  was,  and  a 
sentimental  illusion  may  create  quite  as  much  fer- 
ment as  an  heroic  love;  she  was  suffering  vio- 
lently, and  it  would  have  been  horrible  to  her  to 
think  that  this  hurricane  of  hopelessness  sprang 
from  her  attachment  to  an  infamous  fortune.  It 
was  far  nicer  to  believe  that  her  father  was  tra- 
duced by  the  world  and  that  Keith  was  wan- 
tonly unreasonable. 

She  pitied  herself  passionately.  Never  in  her 
frivolous  life  before  had  she  wanted  anything  so 
much,  and  never  until  now  had  anything  been  de- 
nied to  her.  Because  it  was  denied,  she  wanted 
it  more  vehemently  still. 

She  sent  no  answer  to  his  letter.  The  impulse 
to  assuage  her  pain  by  mortifying  him  with  a 
few  hurtful  lines  was  very  strong,  but  she  felt 
that  silence  became  her  better;  and  the  thought 
that,  on  the  whole,  it  would  mortify  him  even 
more,  enabled  her  to  resist  the  temptation. 

Nor  did  she  go  to  the  Waldehasts'  during  the 
next  few  days,  ardently  as  she  desired  to  hear 
about  him;  so  Keith  contrived  to  see  her  only 
when  she  was  driving — when  he  could  not  be  cer- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  37 

tain  whether  he  was  ignored,  or  only  overlooked. 
However,  she  wrote  asking  Mrs.  Waldehast  to 
go  to  her.  They  had  been  friends  since  their 
.schooldays,  and  Dardy  Waldehast  rustled  in 
upon  her  promptly. 

"Now,  I'm  just  dying  with  curiosity,"  she  said, 
"so  you've  got  to  tell  me  everything!" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Betty. 

"I've  been  trying  to  pump  Keith,  but  I  can't 
get  anything  out  of  him." 

"Mr.  Keith?"  Her  tone  implied  that  the  ref- 
erence to  him  was  irrelevant.  "Oh,  he  hasn't 
sailed  then?  I  thought  he  was  leaving  New 
York?" 

"He  is  very  much  in  New  York  at  present- 
he  has  been  living  in  my  rocker,  waiting  for  you 
to  come  in." 

"Did  he  say  so?" 

"Xot  in  words.  What's  the  trouble  with  him, 
Betty?  I  thought  you  meant  it?" 

"So  I  did  mean  it;  you  know  very  well  I  meant 
it!  Dardy,  I'm  miserable;  he  has  treated  me 
abominably.  He  says — he  says  he  wouldn't  take 
a  cent  with  me!  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Dardy  Waldehast's  eyes  widened.  "You  don't 
mean  to  say  that's  what  you're  worrying  about?" 
she  asked.  "That  sort  of  thing  looks  very  pretty, 
but  it  doesn't  wrash.  He  couldn't  help  it,  even 


361336 


38  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

(if  he  wanted  to;  you  know  that  very  well — he 
hasn't  got  anything." 

"He  insists  that  we  should  live  on  what  he  has 
got,  anyhow.  If  you  think  he's  trying  to  fool 
me,  we  can't  talk.  I  have  refused  him;  I  am 
never  going  to  see  him  any  more." 

"But,  you  silly  girl!  he  had  to  say  it;  he 
couldn't  have  proposed  to  you  if  he  hadn't  said  it. 
I  don't  know  where  your  wits  have  gone,  really !" 

"You  don't  understand.  He  won't  take  it  be- 
cause he's  a  crank ;  he  thinks  the  Trust  is  wicked. 
Oh,  he  made  his  reasons  perfectly  plain — my  feel- 
ings were  of  no  consequence!  Of  course  he 
doesn't  know  anything  about  it — he  has  probably 
been  misled  by  an  Editorial  in  The  Flag.  He 
says  he  wouldn't  touch  our  money.  He  wants 
me  to  do  without  it,  and  'give  my  soul  a  chance' 
— he's  strong  on  my  soul,  my  food  doesn't  mat- 
ter! He  expects  me  to  sacrifice  all  my  comfort 
to  his  crazy  notions.  I  never  heard  anything  so 
selfish  in  my  life." 

"Well,  I  should  say!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Walde- 
hast.  "Is  that  so?  And  I've  been  feeling  real 
bad  for  him,  feeding  him  up  with  tea  and  candy. 
.  .  .  Does  it  weigh  much,  Bet?" 

"Yes;  I  never  liked  a  man  that  way  before. 
I'd  have  done  anything  for  him — and  he  treats 
me  like  this !  I  suppose  it's  life — as  soon  as  a  girl 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  39 

cares  for  a  man  really,  he  makes  her  suffer. 
They're  only  fit  to  be  flirted  with  and  made  game 
of.  I'd  rather  have  married  him  than  all  the 
dukes  in  the  peerage — and  he  doesn't  mind  if  I 
don't  have  enough  to  eat!" 
"Have  you  told  your  father?" 
"Yes.  Of  course  he  doesn't  want  me  to  marry 
him,  but  he'd  let  me — I  might  have  had  a  heav^ 
enly  life  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Turn!  My  father 
offered  to  talk  to  him,  but  I  can't  permit  that 
—making  myself  so  cheap.  Besides,  it  wouldn't 
do  any  good.  He  wants  me  to  go  to  Europe  with 
Howard." 

"Who — your  father  does?    Are  you  going?" 
"What's  the  use  of  that?    I'll  never  get  over 
it  as  long  as  I  live — in  Europe  or  anywhere  else. 
It  has  broken  my  heart,  I  could  cry  my  eyes  out." 
Her  voice  quivered.    "What  shall  I  do,  Dardy? 
I'm  so  fond  of  him.     'Tisn't  as  if  he  were  silly 
aD  through;  it's  only  just  this  one  point — he's 
as  sensible  as  anybody  else  about  most  things." 
"I  wish  I  hadn't  had  him  at  the  house  so  much." 
"Oh,  it's  my  fault — I  saw  where  I  was  going; 
I  could  have  pulled  up  in  time  if  I  had  wanted 
to.     Now  it's  too  late!     I'll  never  care  for  an- 
other man  as  I  cared  for  him.    I  feel —  feel  about 
him  just  the  way  we  used  to  talk  before  we  put 
our  hair  up,  Dardy." 


40  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Mrs.  Waldehast  nodded.  "Still,  of  course, 
that  wouldn't  last,  anyhow,"  she  said.  "Even  if 
you  marry  your  romance,  you  lose  it — I  mean, 
your  husband's  quite  different  from  the  fellow 
you  used  to  gaze  at  the  moon  about." 

"I  expect  he's  more  like  it  than  the  other  fel- 
lows, all  the  same." 

"I  don't  know;  Hal's  all  right,  and  I'm  quite 
happy  with  him,  but  I  do  sometimes  wonder  what 
became  of  the  Hal  I  got  married  to.  /  don't 
meet  him.  I  guess  there's  a  bad  fairy  that  flies 
away  with  our  bridegrooms  while  we're  dream- 
ing on  the  honeymoon — and  when  we  wake,  we 
just  find  husbands  in  their  place." 

"You  can't  console  me  that  way." 

"No.  Well,  you'd  better  talk  him  round. 
He's  very  smitten — you'll  only  have  to  cry." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  speak  to  him  again— 
we've  quarrelled.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do;  I  don't 
care  how  much  humble  pie  I  eat  as  long  as  he 
doesn't  know.  Don't  you  ever  remind  me  I  said 
that,  or  I'll  hate  you!" 

"I'd  go  to  Europe  if  I  were  you;  I  can  men- 
tion to  him  what  boat  you're  crossing  on.  Go 
by  one  of  the  slow  boats — you'll  have  time  to 
twist  him  round  your  finger  before  you  land." 

"I  couldn't  forgive  him  right  away — it'd  look 
like  jumping  at  him." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  41 

"You  can  spare  two  days  to  be  chilly  in — two 
days  last  a  long  while  at  sea;  they'll  seem  as 
long  as  the  winter  to  him.  That'll  leave  you 
four  or  five  days  to  make  him  do  what  you  want. 
You'll  have  trained  him  up  in  the  way  he  should 
go  long  before  you  reach  Liverpool." 

"It's  a  heavenly  notion,"  admitted  Betty 
cheerfully;  "it's  sweet  of  you — I  hadn't  thought 
of  that.  But  I'm  not  set  on  going  to  Europe 
with  Howard ;  I  know  what  it  means — I'll  never 
see  him  there ;  he'll  leave  me  in  the  hotel,  looking 
out  of  the  window.  I  wish  you  were  going." 

"Me?    We  don't  go  till  the  fall." 

"It's  much  better  now  than  in  the  fall.  It's 
perfectly  ridiculous  going  over  in  the  fall. 
London's  empty  in  the  fall — so's  Paris.  They're 
a  dream  in  the  spring.  Come  with  me!  I'll 
give  you  a  dandy  time.  Come  for  a  month  and 
^uy  frocks.  You  shall  come  back  as  soon  as 
I'm  engaged." 

"I  should  have  to  put  off  all  my  parties. 
And  I'd  be  so  scared  about  the  baby." 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  but 
there  might  be.  With  me  at  sea!  I  should  go 
crazy." 

"You  can  have  a  marconigram  every  day 
about  the  baby — and  a  cable  every  day  when 


42  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

we're  there.  Say  you  will!  You've  been  such 
a  sweet — I  was  just  broken  up  when  you  came 
in.  Do  be  nice  and  see  me  through!"  She 
hung  round  her,  smiling,  flushed,  coaxing  like 
a  child.  "You'd  be  such  a  help — Howard  'd 
be  no  good,  he's  got  no  tact.  Think  what  it 
means:  it's  just  my  life's  happiness  I'm  begging 
of  you,  Dardy!  And  we'll  go  by  the  C aroma— 
the  staterooms  have  got  the  cunningest  little 
electric  heaters  for  one's  curling-irons." 

Dardy  Waldehast  reflected.  "Oh,  all  right 
then,"  she  said,  "I'll  go!  Better  let  your  father 
think  you're  going  away  to  get  over  it,  hadn't 
you? — leave  his  mind  easy." 

And  when  Lynch  joined  them,  the  girl  said, 
"I've  been  telling  Dardy  she's  got  to  take  me  to 
Europe.  We  want  to  go  by  the  Caronia — the 
Cunard's  so  safe." 

"Well  now,  that's  first-rate,  Mrs.  Walde- 
hast!" said  the  financier,  relieved;  "that's 
just  what  she  wants  to  brace  her  up.  I'll  'phone 
for  a  couple  of  suites  for  the  next  sailing.  I'm 
real  glad  you're  both  going.  Would  you  like  to 
take  Howard  along? — he'll  do  to  look  after  the 
baggage." 

"Our  maids  can  look  after  the  baggage,"  said 
Betty.  "A  couple  of  suites  and  a  stateroom  for 
the  maids  will  be  enough;  we  don't  want  How- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  48 

ard.  Where  shall  we  stay,  Dardy?  When  you 
cable  for  the  rooms,  poppa,  you  might  explain 
that  'Flowers'  means  flowers  in  the  bedrooms; 
I'll  never  forget  the  last  time  we  arrived — there 
wasn't  a  bouquet  in  a  bedroom,  it  was  fright- 
ful!" 

"I'll  fix  it,"  said  Lynch,  thankful  for  her 
brighter  tone.  He  had  just  been  drafting  a  pros- 
pectus that  would  gull  a  multitude,  but  the  young 
women  found  him  gullible. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AFTER  Mrs.  Waldehast  had  told  him  carelessly 
that  she  was  to  sail  with  Betty  Lynch  on  the 
Caronia,  Keith  hurried  down  to  State  Street 
and  booked  his  passage  by  the  boat,  rejoicing 
at  his  "discovery";  and  at  the  Metropolitan, 
later  in  the  evening,  Dardy  Waldehast  threw 
to  Betty,  in  the  opposite  box,  two  little  emphatic 
nods,  which  said,  "I've  done  it!" 

His  elation  was  succeeded  by  the  fear  that 
the  girl  might  not  go  after  all.  There  were  ten 
days  of  suspense.  The  prospect  of  seeing  her 
constantly  during  the  passage  seemed  to  him  too 
extraordinary  to  be  fulfilled.  Something  must 
prevent  this  maritime  heaven!  When  he  drove 
to  the  pier  at  last  he  was  more  despondent  than 
excited.  A  bad  night  hinted  that  a  caprice  had 
balked  him  at  the  final  moment,  that  he  was 
about  to  put  the  Atlantic  between  them. 

The  pier  was  chaos,  apparently  heaped  with 
the  luggage  of  the  world.  Aboard  ship  all  the 
women  were  speaking  at  once,  and  every  woman 
was  saying  "steward"  or  "grip."  Below,  in  the 

44 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  45 

great  dining- saloon,  a  vaudeville  artist  queened 
it  at  one  of  the  small  tables,  taking  leave  of  some 
admirers;  champagne  popped  to  her  triumphs 
in  London;  the  table  was  gorgeous  with  roses 
and  ribbons,  the  valedictory  expressions  of  re- 
gard. He  lost  himself  in  a  maze  of  passage  ways, 
and  captured  his  stateroom  only  after  it  had 
eluded  him  three  times.  There  are  staterooms 
which  seem  never  to  be  twice  in  the  same  place. 
When  he  returned,  order  was  prevailing.  The 
deck  grew  clearer,  the  last  adieux  were  gabbled. 
Neither  Miss  Lynch  nor  Mrs.  Waldehast  was  to 
be  seen.  The  endless  crowd  streamed  off,  in- 
stead of  on,  now — momentarily  it  looked  as  if 
everybody  had  been  a  visitor  and  nobody  would 
be  left  to  sail.  Still  they  were  unseen!  He  gazed 
forlornly  round.  And  the  hotel  moved  away. 

He  saw  them,  with  a  heart  thump,  about  an 
hour  later,  after  the  chairs  were  set  out.  He 
knew  that  Mrs.  Waldehast  whispered,  "Here's 
Keith,"  as  he  approached,  for  Betty  gave  a  faint 
start  of  astonishment.  But  she  did  not  turn 
her  head.  The  other  woman  exclaimed,  "Why, 
Mr.  Keith!"  with  smiling  surprise,  and  there 
was  a  few  moments'  awkward  conversation.  His 
embarrassment  at  intruding  upon  Betty,  who  was 
monosyllabic  and  obviously  chagrined  to  find 
him  there,  made  him  very  constrained.  He 


46  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

envied  the  composure  with  which  she  contrived 
to  mask  her  amazement  at  meeting  him,  after  the 
first  instant  of  dismay. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  they  kept  to  their 
suites.  The  moonlit  deck  ungraced  was  pathetic. 

In  the  morning  they  were  not  at  breakfast. 
It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  a  stir  with  their 
cushions  and  rugs  heralded  their  appearance. 
Mrs.  Waldehast's  comment  on  the  weather  in 
passing  him  was  formal — evidently  she  had  been 
asked  to  keep  him  at  a  distance.  As  to  that, 
there  was  a  smoking-room! 

But,  after  all,  it  wasn't  to  admire  the  smok- 
ing-room that  he  had  chosen  the  Caroma!  He 
went  to  luncheon  resolved  to  find  his  opportunity 
before  the  moon  could  mock  him  again. 

The  afternoon  was  blank  until  the  tea-cups 
circulated.  Then  the  two  ladies  settled  them- 
selves on  the  promenade  deck,  but  were  in- 
separable until  a  penetrating  rain  sent  everyone 
scurrying  into  the  lounge.  "I*  think  this  is 
where  I  leave  you?"  said  the  confidant.  "Well, 
don't  be  gone  more  than  a  minute  or  two!"  mur- 
mured Betty.  Mrs.  Waldehast  got  up  and 
shivered — she  went  below  for  a  wrap.  The  girl 
remained  on  the  divan,  absorbed  by  a  magazine. 
He  reached  her  in  three  strides. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  let  me  talk  to  you?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  47 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  want  to  talk 
to  me,"  she  said,  at  once  startled,  proud,  and 
reproachful. 

"It's  all  I'm  here  for — I  heard  you  were 
going." 

"I  think  it  was  a  great  pity  you  heard.  It 
was  very  foolish  of  Dardy  to  speak  about  it." 

"I'm  very  grateful  that  she  did!  .  .  .  You  got 
my  letter?" 

She  bent  her  head  silently. 

"I  waited  in  the  whole  day  for  your  answer. 
It  was  a  very  long  day." 

"What  answer  did  you  expect?"  The  tone 
was  a  rebuke. 

"I  hoped  you'd  say  that  you  forgave  me  for 
hurting  you.  Will  you?  If  you  knew  how  bad 
I've  been  feeling " 

"I'd  rather  not  hear  about  it,  please!"  she  said. 
"I  wish  to  forget." 

"Me?" 

After  a  second's  pause  she  faltered,  "Yes; 
what  else  can  I  do  now?" 

"You  can  say  you'll  marry  me — I  love  you, 
I  love  you  so  much!  Betty,  I've  felt  a  brute  and 
a  cad  for  saying  what  I  did  to  you — I've  seen 
that  look  in  your  eyes  ever  since.  Won't  you  for- 
give me?" 

"You  told  me  we  couldn't  be  happy  together. 


48  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

What's  the  good  of  asking  me  to  forgive 
you?" 

"I  told  you  we  couldn't  be  happy  on  your 
money.  I'm  not  asking  you  to  marry  me  on  that. 
If  you  care  for  me,  can't  you — can't  you  give 
it  up?" 

"Oh!"  She  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 
"You  ask  me  to  marry  you  one  minute,  and  in- 
sult me  the  next.  I  think  you're  crazy!" 

"You  know  I  don't  mean  to  insult  you;  it's 
much  worse  for  me  to  have  to  speak  about  your 
money  than  it  is  for  you  to  hear.  But  you've 
got  to  understand  me.  We  needn't  discuss  my 
reasons  any  more;  I'd  much  rather  not.  It 
amounts  to  this:  if  you  marry  me,  you'll  live  on 
what  I  can  make  for  you!  It's  what  I  implore 
you  to  do.  If  you'll  only ' 

Dardy  Waldehast  came  back  with  a  wrap  on. 
"Hasn't  it  turned  cold?"  she  said  to  Keith,  as 
casually  as  if  she  had  just  been  chatting  with  him. 
"Feel  my  hands!" 

Betty  was  sorry  that  she  had  commanded  such 
a  quick  return.  But  the  ice  was  broken  now,  and, 
though  the  brief  conversation  was  different  from 
the  one  she  had  forecast,  she  felt  in  better  spirits 
for  it. 

So  did  Keith.  They  talked  again  in  the  lounge 
after  dinner.  Somebody  sang  Tosti.  And  after 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  49 

Tosti,  the  deck  was  dry;  but  not  dry  enough  for 
Mrs.  Waldehast.  He  and  Betty  sauntered 
alone. 

She  looked  at  the  sky,  and  paid  a  compliment 
to  the  moon. 

"It's  much  better  than  it  was  last  night,"  he 
said  appreciatively. 

"I  didn't  notice  it  last  night;  we  didn't  come 
up." 

"No — and  it  gibed!  I  had  been  on  the 
Caronia  for  aeons  without  getting  a  word  with 
you.  The  moon  quoted  Browning." 

"Carnegie  must  have  found  a  new  field  for  his 
libraries.  What  did  it  say?" 

'  'Never  the  time,  and  the  place,  and  the  loved 
one  all  together.'  Oh,  I  was  wretched  last  night! 
The  deck  was  calling  for  you.  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
—do  you  know,  I'm  almost  inclined  to  wish  that 
I  hadn't  any  principles!  It  would  make  things 
so  much  easier.  I  never  thought  I  could  be  in  a 
situation  where  I  shouldn't  know  the  right  course 

from  the  wrong,  but — but Is  a  man  a  selfish 

beast  to  try  to  make  a  girl  renounce  a  fortune  for 
him,  or  would  he  be  only  half  a  lover  to  let  her 
go  when  they  care  for  each  other?  ...  If  I 
thought  you'd  regret  yielding,  I'd  say  good-bye 
and  try  to  forget  you,  as  I  meant  to  do;  I  would, 
on  my  honour!" 


50  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Don't  you  think  you  may  be  unjust?"  she 
asked  haltingly.  "I  told  my  father  what  you 
said ;  he  said  you  didn't  understand.  He  said  that 
every  business  has  its  enemies.  Even  if  it  is  a 
small  business,  there  is  always  somebody  smaller 
who  complains  of  it  and  says  that  it's  wicked 
and  tyrannical.  My  father  has  always  been  very 
good  to  me.  If  you  knew  how  kind  he  has  been 
to  me,  you  wouldn't  think  he  was  a  bad  man. 

When  you  say  what  you  do,  I Well,  I  don't 

like  to  hear  you  speak  ill  of  him!" 

"I  don't  want  to  speak  ill  of  him,  Betty.  It's 
because  1  don't  want  to  hurt  you  that  I  can't 
justify  myself  to  you.  My  tongue's  tied;  I  can 
only  say  that  I  condemn — and  it  sounds  like  a 
prig.  But  I'm  not  the  only  person  who  con- 
demns; you  know  that,  dear,  as  well  as  I  do." 

"All  the  world  may  make  mistakes,"  she 
pleaded.  "You  admitted  just  now  that  you 
weren't  sure  if  you  were  right." 

"I'm  not  sure  if  I'm  right  in  asking  you  to 
give  your  wealth  up,  but  I'm  quite  sure  I'm  right 
in  refusing  to  share  it.  I'll  never  consent  to  do 
that.  .  .  .  The  truth  is,  I  haven't  the  courage  of 
my  own  convictions.  I'd  rejoice  to  see  you  give 
it  up — I'd  think  you  a  nobler  woman.  It  makes 
me  sick  when  I  remember  that  your  pleasures  are 
paid  for  with  other  people's  ruin — but  I  take 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  51 

fright  at  the  responsibility  of  asking  you  to  give 
it  up  for  me.  I  ask  you — and  wonder  if  it's 
monstrous  of  me  directly  afterwards.  My  view 
is  right,  I  know  it's  right;  but  then  I  shouldn't 
have  expressed  it  to  you  if  I  didn't  want  you  to 
marry  me — and  perhaps  that  makes  me  wrong !" 

They  strolled  the  length  of  the  deck  before  she 
spoke. 

"I  think  there'd  be  nothing  gained  if  we  were 
to  talk  for  ever!"  she  said  harshly.  "It's  just 
as  impossible  for  you  to  understand  my  father's 
business  as  it  would  be  for  my  father  to  under- 
stand your  art.  We  won't  talk  about  it  any 
more,  please." 

"You're  angry  with  me  again?" 

She  shrugged  a  shoulder:  "Oh,  you  have  a 
right  to  your  opinion,  I  suppose;  I'm  not  angry 
with  you." 

"That's  as  cruel  a  thing  as  you  could  say." 

"How  can  I  help  hating  myself?"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  break  in  her  voice.  "How  do  you 
suppose  I  must  feel?  Do  you  suppose  these 
things  are  pleasant  to  me  to  hear?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  forget  that  I  needn't  have  heard  them  if 
I  hadn't  said  what  I  did  to  you?  You  were  go- 
ing away — you'd  never  have  known,  I'd  have  had 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of!" 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 


52  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you  remember  something  you  said  to  me 
that  night?  You  said,  'I  know  about  the  people 
ruined,  and  the  broken  homes,  and  it  doesn't  make 
me  feel  good  when  I  think  of  it.'  Are  you  sure 
you'll  always  be  able  to  put  the  thought  aside? 
Are  you  sure  the  time  can't  come  when  the 
millions  won't  be  enough — when  the  cries  of  the 
people  will  keep  you  awake?  I  don't  want  to 
invent  a  conscience  for  you,  but  are  you  positive 
that  you'll  never  be  ashamed?" 

She  paused  by  the  taffrail,  with  averted  face. 
The  subtlety  of  her  sex  had  gone,  and  left  her 
helpless.  She  was  no  strategist,  trying  to  bend 
his  will  now;  she  was  a  girl  in  love — with  swim- 
ming eyes,  and  a  lump  in  her  throat,  and  a  nose 
turning  pink. 

"I  know  just  how  you  think  about  me,"  she 
gulped.  "You  think  I'm  fonder  of  my  fortune 
than  of  you !  It's  not  true." 

"Betty!" 

"I'm  not,  I'm  not !    And  I  know  you're  right 

—yes,  I  do  know  it,  right  down  deep — but  I 

don't  want  to  hear  about  it.    He's  my  father,  you 

see.    Take  me !    I  don't  want  the  money,  I  swear 

I  don't — I  only  want  to  be  happy!" 

"O  my  sweet!"  he  stammered.  "If  there  were 
nobody  here!  Betty,  I'm  holding  you,  I'm 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  58 

thanking  God  for  you,  I'm  kissing  your  feet,  and 
your  tears,  and  your  lips — my  heart,  my  love!" 

"I  know  I'm  not  as  brave  as  I  ought  to  be," 
she  quavered,  "but  I  will  try!  I  want  to  be  just 
what  you'd  like.  You  won't  ever  be  sorry  for 
marrying  me,  will  you — I  mean  if  I  make  a  muss 
of  things?  It  won't  be  that  I'm  not  happy  and 
proud  to  be  your  wife,  only  that  I  don't  know 
how  to  set  to  work.  I'll  be  content  in  ever  so 
poky  a  cottage,  and — and — I  can't  cook  the  din- 
ner, I  don't  know  how,  but  I'll  learn  all  about 
art,  so  that  you  shan't  feel  you've  married  a  fool. 
And  you  shan't  paint  portraits !" 

Their  hands  clung  together  on  the  rail. 

"I'd  paint  portraits  all  my  life  for  you,"  said 
the  man  reverentl}-;  "I'd  throw  art  overboard  for 
you!  I  thought  I  loved  you  before,  but  I  didn't 
know  what  love  was — I  didn't  know  what  a 
woman  could  be.  .  .  .  And  you  won't  have  to 
cook  the  dinner,  my  queen,  or  live  in  a  cottage; 
it  won't  be  so  bad  as  all  that.  I  make— 

"Sh!"  she  whispered.  "Never  mind  what  you 
make — I  am  so  tired  of  you  and  me  talking 
money." 

The  first  officer  hurried  by  them,  looking  the 
other  way. 

"I've  made  a  perfect  fright  of  myself,"  she 
smiled,  dabbing  her  fingers  at  her  eyes,  "and  I 


54  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

haven't  got  a  handkerchief."  She  borrowed 
Keith's:  "You're  beginning  to  provide  for  me 
already!" 

"Betty,  when  will  you  marry  me-?  Will  you 
marry  me  as  soon  as  we  land?" 

"Oh!"  she  laughed,  in  the  glory  of  surrender. 
"Are  you  so  afraid  I'll  change  my  mind?" 

"No.  But  I  want  to  prove  to  you  how  much 
I  mean  it.  .  .  .  Betty!" 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"You've  never  called  me  'Dick.' ' 

"I  think  'Richard'  suits  you  much  better;  you 
aren't  'Dick'  a  bit.  Do  they  call  you  'Dick'?" 

"No — very  few  people  do." 

"Then  I  shall— Dick." 

"Betty!" 

"You'll  know  that  name  soon!" 

"Where  shall  we  live?" 

"Dear,"  she  pouted,  "let's  live  in  a  moonbeam 
to-night.  Don't  let's  be  practical  yet — I  don't 
want  to  be  practical  any  more.  It  doesn't  matter 
where  we  live — if  I  make  you  happy." 

At  the  piano  somebody  sang  again.  The  lyric 
did  not  reach  her,  but  the  melody  harmonised 
with  the  music  of  her  mood.  Presently  the  ship's 
bells  jarred,  startling  them  to  the  remembrance 
of  time.  "We  must  go  down  to  Dardy,"  she 
murmured. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  56 

"Will  you  say  good-night  to  me  first?" 
Now,  where  they  leant  there  was  no  one  in 

view — she  saw  nothing  but  him,  and  the  sea,  and 

the   stars.     He   drew  nearer   still.     Her  eyes 

closed. 

Oh,  it  was  worth  it,  worth  it  a  thousandfold! 

She  was  sure  she  would  think  so  as  long  as  she 

lived. 


CHAPTER  V 

DARDY  WALDEHAST  was  less  optimistic.  She 
divined  the  engagement  directly  they  returned  to 
the  lounge,  but  she  attributed  capitulation  to  the 
wrong  side.  It  was  not  till  she  was  in  Betty's 
stateroom  with  her  that  she  was  staggered  by 
the  facts. 

"And  what  do  you  imagine  your  father's  go- 
ing to  say?"  she  demanded.  "You  don't  imagine 
for  a  moment  he'll  allow  it,  do  you?" 

"I  mean  to  write  to  him  at  once;  I'll  mail  the 
letter  from  Queenstown.  It's  my  own  life — if 
I'm  satisfied,  nobody  else  has  any  reason  to  com- 
plain. .  .  .  Oh,  be  nice,  Dardy ! — I  feel  so  happy 
and  so  good,  and  I  don't  want  to  think  about  any- 
thing horrid." 

They  sat  on  the  couch,  with  their  arms  around 
each  other. 

"I'd  never  have  believed  it  of  you!  .  .  .  When 
is  it  supposed  to  be?  Is  he  coming  back  to  New 
York  with  us?" 

"What  for?  I  won't  go  back  to  New  York. 
We'll  live  in  London — we  shall  be  married  in 
London." 

56    * 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  57 

"Will  your  father  come  over?" 

Betty's  eyes  grew  solemn.  "I  don't  know," 
she  said  pensively,  "I've  been  wondering.  I've 
got  to  tell  him,  you  see,  that  he  mustn't  settle 
anything  on  me — that  I've  promised  not  to  take 
it.  He  won't  be  anxious  to  meet  Dick  after 
that !  .  .  .  And  even  if  he  did  care  to  come,  it'd 
be  rather — rather  painful  for  us  all,  wouldn't  it? 
I  don't  want" — she  plucked  at  her  friend's  lace — 
"I  don't  want  to  have  a  father  there  that  Dick 
feels  such  things  about.  How  can  I? — it'll  be 
Dick's  wedding  too.  I — I  think  the  church 
should  be  quite  sweet  for  us  both  when  he  marries 
me." 

The  other  woman  kissed  her,  and  they  sat 
silent. 

"My  father's  in  the  Trust  as  well,"  she  said  at 
last  hesitatingly. 

"Yes." 

"I've  never  worried." 

"You  did  one  day,  Dardy.  Do  you  remem- 
ber?" 

"We  were  kids  then — and  thought  we  were 
heroines.  What's  the  good  of  making  our  lives 
a  misery?  We  can't  alter  it.  Besides,  I  don't 
believe  it's  so  bad  as  they  say;  it's  all  nonsense. 
Nobody  has  a  word  to  say  against  Hal — and  Hal 


58  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

never  fussed  about  my  money.  .  .  .  It's  an 
awful  pity — there's  not  one  man  in  a  million 
who  would  be  such  a  fool.  I  don't  know  why  it 
should  happen  to  you  to  meet  him!  .  .  .  Well, 
if  your  father  doesn't  come  over  for  it,  who'll  be 
there?" 

"Why,  you!" 

"I  can't  do  it,  dear — you  mustn't  let  me  in 
for  that !  It  isn't  what  I  was  brought  for.  He'd 
be  mad  with  me!  And  anyhow,  I  can't  stay 
more  than  a  month — you  don't  mean  to  have  it 
within  a  month?" 

"I— I  don't  know,"  said  Betty;  "yes,  I 
expect  we  will.  I  won't  want  to  buy  a  trousseau. 
...  I  shall  write  my  father  all  you  say;  he  can't 
say  it's  your  fault." 

"I'd  never  have  believed  it  of  you!"  said  the 
other  again.  "One  thing Well!" 

"What's  that?" 

"Well,  of  course,  it  needn't  last — you  can  al- 
ways have  it  your  own  way  afterwards. 
But " 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  startled.  "I  wouldn't 
do  that!"  she  breathed.  "That's  over— I'm 
being  real  with  him."  Her  gaze  remained  wide 
and  introspective.  "I  wish  you  hadn't  said  that." 

"I'm  sorry." 

"You   don't  know  how   I     wish   we  hadn't 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  59 

schemed  that  day!  I  hate  myself  for  having 
shammed  to  him;  it'd  be  lovely  if  I  hadn't 
meant  him  to  come,  and  he  had  just  surprised  me 
here  as  he  thinks  he  has.  I'd  like  it  all  to  have 
been  quite  true." 

Mrs.  Waldehast  grimaced.  "You'll  make  me 
envious  in  a  minute — /  shall  never  have  those 
cranky  and  beautiful  emotions  any  more!  .  .  . 
You'd  better  turn  in  now,  and  dream  of  him. 
Pull  the  bedclothes  up  high,  or  your  wings'll 
take  cold!  I'm  not  going  to  talk  sense  to  you 
again  to-night." 

But  she  talked  to  Keith  on  the  morrow. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Keith,"  she  said,  "I  feel  a 
great  responsibility.  Betty's  father  has  trusted 
her  to  me,  and  I  can't  stand  by  and  see  her  spoil 
her  life.  You  must  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  this 
won't  work — we  don't  live  in  a  romance." 

The  throbbing  of  the  steamer  was  very  loud  in 
his  ears.  "You  think  I  am  behaving  badly  to 
her?"  he  asked,  when  he  found  his  voice. 

"I  think  you  are  behaving  badly  to  yourself. 
Mr.  Lynch  is  devoted  to  her;  he  would  consent 
to  anything  to  make  her  happy.  If  you  refuse 
to  let  him  help  you,  you  are  wilfully  turning  your 
back  on  a  fortune." 

"She  is  prepared  to  live  on  less  than  I  can 
offer  her,"  he  pleaded. 


60  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

*  'Prepared'  1  Have  you  any  notion  of  what 
she  is  used  to?  She  has  had  her  own  account 
since  she  was  eighteen,  and  the  bank  has  been 
told  to  honour  her  cheques  to  any  extent.  My 
husband  is  a  rich  man,  but  Betty  has  spent  as 
much  in  a  year  on  nothing  particular  as  I  have 
spent  on  my  house;  everything  solid  has  been 
paid  for  by  her  father." 

''For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  imagine  that  I 
undervalue  what  she's  doing,"  he  exclaimed. 
"It's  the  grandest  thing  that  a  girl  ever  did  for 
a  man.  I  know  that  nothing,  nothing  on  my 

side  can  be  enough  to I'll  worship  her  for  it. 

She's  brave  indeed!" 

"She's  in  love.  I  don't  quarrel  with  her  for 
that — I'm  not  much  older  than  she  is;  but  I'm 
a  married  woman,  and  on  this  point  I'm  older 
than  the  two  of  you.  While  a  girl's  in  love, 
everything  the  man  says  is  a  law  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians  to  her,  she  sees  with  his  eyes;  but 
afterwards,  if  she  has  any  more  backbone  than 
porridge-and-cream,  she  begins  to  sit  up  and 
survey  for  herself  again.  I  can't  argue  about  Mr. 
Lynch 's  commercial  reputation,  I  don't  pretend 
to  understand  finance" — Keith  did  not  miss  the 
reflection — "but  I  do  understand  Betty,  and  I 
tell  you  that  if  you  think  her  conversion  to  your 
view  is  anything  but  the  fizz  of  the  moment,  you 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  61 

are  making  a  big  mistake.  You  will  spare 
yourself  and  her  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  pain 
by  listening  to  reason  at  the  start." 

"If  you  mean  'by  taking  help  from  her 
father,'  "  he  stammered,  "I  can't  do  it  at  the 
start,  or  at  any  other  time.  Betty  thoroughly 
understands  that.  I'm  sorry  if  I  sound  hard." 

He  sounded,  on  the  contrary,  very  weak.  It 
is  one  thing  to  have  intense  convictions,  and  an- 
other to  uphold  them  to  strangers.  Keith  would 
never  have  swayed  mobs,  he  was  too  sensitive  to 
a  jeer.  He  felt  like  a  boy  beside  her,  nervous, 
shamefaced. 

"Well!"  her  gesture  was  resigned,  "you  are 
entitled  to  your  principles,  of  course;  but  I  tell 
you  frankly  I  think  that,  having  the  objection 
that  you  have,  you  did  very  wrong  in  the  first 
instance  to  propose  to  her." 

In  the  first  instance,  however,  she  had  pro- 
posed to  him. 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  ought  to  give  her  up?" 
he  said  unsteadily.  "I'm  so  fond  of  her,  Mrs. 
Waldehast — you're  a  woman,  you  ought  to  know 
how  much  I  mean  it!  But  if  she  wished  she 
hadn't  married  me  it'd  be  terrible;  I'd  rather  it 
came  to  nothing  than  make  her  wretched  for  life. 
Do  you  mean  that  I  ought  to  give  her  up?" 

Dardy  Waldehast  flinched.    A  vision  of  Betty 


62  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

assailed  her — Betty  at  white  heat,  Betty  de- 
manding wrathfully  "how  she  dared?"  After 
all,  was  the  responsibility  so  great  as  she  as- 
serted? There  would  be  plenty  of  time  for 
Lynch  to  take  decisive  measures  if  he  chose ! 

"I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  sort,"  she  said ; 
"I  mean  that  you  should  agree  to  her  father  mak- 
ing a  settlement.  All  she'll  bring  you,  if  you 
don't,  is  about  a  hundred  pounds  a  year — her 
grandfather  left  her  twenty  thousand  dollars 
when  she  was  a  child.  Unless  you  object  to  that 
too?" 

"It's  the  first  I've  heard  of  it,"  he  said.  "But 
why  should  I  object?  My  objection  is  not  to 
marrying  a  girl  with  money,  but  to  living  on 
atrocious  money.  Surely  the  difference  is  plain 
enough?" 

"Atrocious"  rent  veils.  But  her  own  father 
was  less  prominent,  Keith  knew  nothing  of  him — 
it  was  needless  to  challenge  the  word.  Her 
thoughts  darted  to  the  scene  of  which  Betty  had 
reminded  her — for  a  primitive  moment  she  was  a 
girl  again,  revolted,  confiding  to  her  friend  that 
she  would  "run  away  and  go  into  a  store." 
Yes,  she  had  fancied  she  was  a  heroine  then! 
She  regained  her  composure  before  the  man 
could  notice  there  was  anything  amiss.  When 
he  turned  to  her  she  was  back  in  her  world. 


63 

"Well,  you  mustn't  be  vexed  with  me  for  my 
opinion,"  she  said  urbanely;  "I  wanted  a  chat 
with  you  because  I've  a  great  affection  for  her, 
but  that  doesn't  mean  that  I  don't  like  you." 

"I  shall  always  be  deeply  grateful  to  you,  Mrs. 
Waldehast,"  he  sighed;  "I  only  wish  you  didn't 
think  me  so  inhuman." 

His  misgivings  had  rushed  back  to  him,  in- 
tensified. He  was  "entitled  to  his  principles," 
but  was  he  entitled  to  force  them  upon  Betty? 
Her  consent  was  the  "fizz  of  the  moment"  ?  Then 
she  would  live  to  bewail  it!  For  there  could  be 
no  going  back  afterwards;  if  she  accepted  the 
condition,  she  accepted  it  for  good  and  all.  Was 
he  being  fair  to  her  in  taking  her  at  her  word? 
There  must  be  a  serious  talk  between  them  to- 
day! 

But  when  he  was  alone  with  her  during  the 
afternoon,  he  wondered  how  to  broach  the  sub- 
ject. His  relief  was  as  great  as  his  surprise  when 
she  said  archly,  "So  you've  been  having  a  bad 
time?  Well,  you  aren't  going  to  lose  me  if  you 
don't  want  to — don't  worry!" 

"She  told  you?"  he  exclaimed.    "You  know?" 

Her  laughter  brimmed  over;  the  ingenuous- 
ness of  Man  was  comic.  "No,  she  didn't  tell  me; 
there  are  things  that  don't  want  telling,  they 
shout  for  themselves.  I  saw  you  when  you  were 


64  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

drooping  round  with  her.  What  is  it  you're  try- 
ing to  say  to  me?  Come  to  momma  and  'fess!" 

"Betty,"  he  said,  "I  can't  joke  about  it,  I'm 
very  much  in  earnest." 

She  put  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  her 
head  to  one  side.  "Are  you  going  to  bid  me  an 
eternal  farewell?"  she  rippled.  "It  isn't  'the 
time,  and  the  place,  and  the  loved  one  all  to- 
gether' now,  because  I  don't  feel  like  being 
pathetic  a  bit." 

"Will  you  listen  to  me?  I  want  you  to  be 
serious.  Will  you,  sweetest?" 

Her  sunshine  faded.  She  sat  down  slowly. 
"Go  on,  then,"  she  said,  raising  big  eyes. 

"She's  very  fond  of  you.  So  am  I,  but  per- 
haps my  kind  of  love  is  bound  to  be  more  selfish 
than  hers.  /  want  you — she  only  wants  to  see  you 
happy;  her  judgment  here  is  better  than  mine. 
.  .  .  It's  because  she's  very  fond  of  you  that 
she  spoke.  She  doesn't  think  that  I've  the  right 
to  let  you  do  what  you  promised ;  she's  sure  you'd 
be  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  I  know  you  don't 
think  so  how,  but  it's  quite  true  that  the  time 
may  come  when  you'll  feel  that  you  acted  like  a 
madwoman — when  you'd  give  everything  on 
earth  to  be  able  to  undo  the  mistake.  Remember 
that  you  will  never  be  able  to  undo  it!  You 
aren't  making  the  sacrifice  for  six  months,  Betty, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  65 

or  for  a  year,  but  for  always.  And  by-and-by, 
the  gilt  will  be  off  the  gingerbread,  and  the 
gingerbread  may  taste  awfully  stale,  my  love. 
That's  all  I  can  say,  but  I  want  you  to  think  it 
over  well,  and  to  have  a  long  talk  with  her." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  heard  what  she's 
got  to  say  already?"  she  replied  proudly.  "What 
can  she  tell  you  about  my  feelings  ?  She  can  only 
answer  for  her  own.  Is  it  Dardy  Waldehast  you 
want  to  marry,  or  me?"  Her  chin  went  up.  "I 
daresay  all  you  have  said  is  very  honourable  and 
high-minded  and  well  meant,  but  I  find  it  no 
compliment.  I  promised  to  be  your  wife;  I  am 
not  a  little  child,  to  have  a  gift  handed  back  to 
her  and  be  told  that  she  doesn't  know  what  she's 
doing." 
"Betty!" 

"I  am  an  American  girl,  and " 

"You're  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  but " 

"And  I  know  my  own  mind.  You  offend  me 
when  you  speak  to  me  as  if  you  thought  I  was 
a  fool.  If  it's  only  my  face  you're  in  love  with, 
I  can't  be  very  much  to  you;  New  York  is  full 
of  men  who're  in  love  with  me  like  that.  I 
imagined  your  love  was  for  myself." 

"I  love  every  mood  of  you!  I  love  you  when 
you're  cross  with  me,  and  I  love  you  when  you 
cry — and  I  love  you  when  you  laugh  and  your 


* 

66  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

eyes  turn  blue  and  you  show  that  dimple  in  your 
cheek!" 

Betty's  chin  was  still  disdainful.  But  the 
corner  of  her  lips  seemed  to  promise  the  dimple's 
dawn. 

"Of  course,"  she  began,  in  her  stateliest  tones, 
"if  you  are  alarmed  at  the  prospect—  His 

interruption  couldn't  be  overlooked.  "You  don't 
deserve  it,"  she  demurred,  melting.  "Well  then! 
Don't  be  unkind  to  me  any  more.  ...  I  had 
something  quite  important  to  say  to  you  when 
you  started  that  foolishness,  you  silly  boy!" 

"God  bless  you!"  exclaimed  Keith.  "I'll  never 
start  it  again;  it's  over!  What  is  it  you  were 
going  to  say?" 

She  stroked  his  hair  the  wrong  way.  "I  have 
been  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  I  can't  be  mean 
and  keep  our  news  secret;  I  must  write  from 
Queenstown — or,  anyhow,  as  soon  as  we're  in 
London." 

He  nodded.    "Of  course." 

"It'd  be  rather  horrid  of  me  to  leave  people 
in  the  dark  about  it.  Besides,  Dardy's  sure  to 
write  to  him!" 

"You  mean  your  father  will  try  to  prevent 
it?" 

"No,  I  don't;  I  am  my  own  mistress.  But" 
— she  hesitated — "it's  just  possible  he  may  decide 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  67 

to  come  over  for  it,  though  he  won't  be  best 
pleased.  I  think  I'd  rather  be  married  to  you 

quite  quietly,  with  nobody  there  but  her  and 

Do  you  want  any  relations?" 

"I've  none  that  I  see  much  of.  Yes,  that's  how 
I'd  like  it  to  be,  that's  just  what  I'd  have 
chosen!"  he  said  thankfully.  "If  you're  sure 
you're  not  doing  it  merely  for  me?" 

"I'd  like  it  best  myself.  .  .  .  Well,  do  you 
think  it  could  be  arranged — would  it  be  too  soon 
to  please  you?" 

"Too  soon?"  he  queried  densely. 

"I  couldn't  cable  'don't  come';  I  can't  do  that! 
Don't  you  see?" 

He  groped  confused  among  these  feminine 
subtleties.  "I'm  afraid  I'm  stupid?" 

She  could  not  deny  it,  but  there  was  something 
of  material  pity  in  her  touch.  "The  only 
thing  I  can  do,"  she  explained  patiently,  "is 
to  say  in  my  letter  that  I'm  marrying  you  before 
— before  anybody  could  get  there.  It'd  be 
quite  two  weeks  before  anyone  could  arrive. 
Would  you  care  to?  are  you  so  impatient  as  all 
that?" 

"I'd  like  to  marry  you  the  day  we  land!"  he 
cried,  with  enthusiasm;  "I'll  get  a  special 
licence.  I  don't  know  how  long  it  takes, 
but " 


68  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"That's  just  what  I  was  wondering,"  she  said. 
"How  do  you  find  out?" 

"I  suppose  you  ask  people,"  said  Keith 
vaguely.  "It  never  occurred  to  me  to  wonder 
how  anybody  got  married.  Evidently  it's  not 
difficult." 

"It's  always  happening,  isn't  it?"  said  Betty. 
"I  expect  there  are  books  that  tell  you.  An 
encyclopaedia  wouldn't  give  it,  would  it?" 

"Whitaker!"  he  said.  "I  should  think  Whita- 
ker  would  give  it.  Perhaps  there's  one  in  the 
library." 

They  rang  the  bell,  and  inquired.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  book  was  in  their  hands.  They  bent 
together  over  the  index. 

'  'Marriage' !"  he  read  triumphantly.  "Here 
we  are!  'Marriage  before  Registrar' — they  put 
that  first.  You  wouldn't,  though,  would 
you?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  want  a  stuffy  wedding 
like  that.  I'd  like  a  litle  church,  quite  simple, 

and  very,  very  old,  with  ivy  on  it,  and But 

we  won't  find  that  in  the  book!  Let's  see  what 
comes  next! — We  can't  attend  to  business  if  you 
try  to  kiss  my  fingers,  Dick. — 'British  Subjects 
abroad,'  'By  Banns- 

"Banns  take  three  Sundays,"  he  said.  "I 
know;  my  father  was  a  clergyman." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  69 

"Is  that  so?  I  never  knew  that!  I  won — I 
wonder  if  that's  why  you're  so  good?" 

He  laughed,  colouring.  '  'Marriage  Licences, 
Office  for' — page  180.  Don't  these  leaves  stick!" 

"They've  put  it  on  the  same  page  as  the 
Bankruptcy  Department!"  she  said  indignantly. 
"Now,  isn't  that  tactless?  You  go  to  Knight- 
rider  Street — from  ten  till  four.  Well,  just  listen 
to  this!  'Office  for  granting  marriage  licences, 
and  Court  of  Peculiars'!  Aren't  they  rude? 
Oh,  this  is  all  prosy,  let's  try  back!  .  .  .  'Certi- 
ficates.' We  haven't  seen  'Certificates.'  I 
daresay  they'll  tell  us  all  about  it — there  are  two 
pages  of  them." 

Keith  took  the  book.  "This  is  it,"  he  said: 
'  'Special  licences,'  that's  what  I  want.  'Are 
granted  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury— 

"The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury!  That's  just 
splendid!"  chirruped  Betty. 

1  'Under  special  circumstances 

"That's  us!" 

'  'For  marriage  at  any  place,  with  or  without 
previous  residence  in  the  district,  or  at  any  time, 
et  cetera.'  Well,  they  couldn't  say  more!" 

"They  do" — she  leant  over  his  shoulder; 
"you're  skipping  the  fees." 

"The  fees  don't  matter  twopence." 

"I  can't  sanction  anything  approaching  ex- 


70  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

travagance,"  said  Betty  severely;  "I  hope  I  am 
not  marrying  an  extravagant  man?  Anyhow, 
you  aren't  through  yet — there's  a  'But.' '  She 
pointed.  '  'But  the  reasons  assigned  must  be 
such  as  to  meet  with  his  Grace's  approval.'  Oh! 
Do  you  think  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
would  approve  of  our  reasons,  Dick,  if  you  put 
them  to  him  very  nicely?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Keith;  "I've  never  met 
him.  Wait  a  minute — 'Licences  are  of  two 
kinds/  let's  try  the  other!  .  .  .  'Licence  is  avail- 
able as  soon  as  it  is  issued.'  That's  sensible. 
Hello,  here's  something  in  italics,  though !  Er — 
'One  of  such  parties  hath  had  his  or  her  usual 
place  of  abode  for  the  space  of  fifteen  days 
immediately  preceding  the  issuing  of  the  licence 
within  the  boundary.'  Well,  neither  of  us  has! 
I've  been  away  for  months."  The  artist's  brow 
was  harassed.  "It's  a  very  complicated  matter, 
I  had  better  go  to  a  solicitor." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  fifteen  days," 
she  declared;  "if  you  get  the  licence  fifteen 
days  after  I  write,  it'll  just  suit.  I  couldn't 
marry  you  sooner  than  that  and  leave  Dardy  all 

alone,  after  bringing  her  away  to  please " 

She  stopped,  embarrassed.  "Oh,  Dick!  I  do 
wish  I  had  said  'Yes'  at  the  beginning.  I've  been 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  71 

so  hateful,  you  don't  know.    You  do  forgive  me, 
don't  you?" 

"Forgive  you!  You're  an  angel  from 
heaven!" 

"No,"  she  pouted,  "You're  not  to  think  about 
me  like  that;  it'd  be  such  a  come  down  for  me 
afterwards.    Don't  love  me  for  an  angel,  Dick— 
I  want  you  to  love  me  for  the  little  cat  I  am." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  pictured  the  life 
they  were  to  lead.  He  kissed  the  pout  from  her 
lips  and  the  shadow  from  her  eye.  She  cooed 
childish  names  to  him,  and  they  laughed  to- 
gether. 

This  was  the  conclusion  of  his  "serious  talk" 
to  her  about  giving  her  up. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SHE  wrote  her  letter  from  the  Carlton.  She 
began  by  saying  that  "Richard  had  been  on  the 
C aroma  too,"  and  felt  guiltily  that  her  father 
would  have  no  faith  in  the  implied  coincidence. 
In  Lynch's  daughter  the  propensity  to  manoeuvre 
was  even  stronger  than  it  is  in  most  women,  but 
it  disturbed  her  more  than  it  does  most  women  to 
be  found  out.  "Money  wasn't  everything,  and 
she  was  quite  sure  she  would  never  repent;  and 
she  was  going  to  be  married  on  the  29th.  Dardy, 
of  course,  would  be  present.  Dardy  was  very 
much  upset,  and  was  writing  to  him  herself." 

It  was  a  difficult  letter.  Though  she  phrased 
it  as  gently  as  she  could,  she  had  to  dwell  upon 
the  point  that  he  was  to  make  no  provision  for 
her,  and  she  knew  that  her  acceptance  of  that 
condition  would  be  crushing.  She  was  un- 
comfortably conscious  also  that  he  would  think 
less  of  her  intelligence  for  it.  She  wanted  to  be 
alone  when  the  letter  was  done.  Mrs.  Waldehast 
heard  without  surprise  that  she  "had  a  head- 
ache." 

72 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  73 

But  an  hour  afterwards,  when  Keith  called  to 
put  the  engagement  ring  on  her  finger,  she  was 
vividljT  happy  again.  He  had  known  a  night 
of  boyish  terrors  lest  his  ring  should  look  paltry 
to  her.  Xot  only  was  she  the  one  girl  in  the 
world,  she  was  Miss  Lynch;  and  although  she 
had  worn  no  other  jewellery  than  a  rope  of  pearls 
it  was  inevitable  that  she  should  compare  his  gift 
mentally  with  the  rings  of  her  friends.  His 
anxiety  had  led  him  to  choose  one  wildly  dis- 
proportionate to  his  position.  Her  enthusiasm 
was  not  feigned  when  he  opened  the  case.  Mrs. 
Waldehast  herself  admitted  later  that  it  was 
"just  sinfully  sweet  of  him." 

In  the  evening  he  took  them  to  the  theatre. 
He  had  been  extending  his  knowledge  of  the 
marriage  laws  meanwhile,  and  Betty  learnt  that 
the  address  of  his  studio,  near  the  Foundling,  was 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  little  church  with 
ivy  on  it.  He  had  decided  to  remove  tp  rooms 
"at  Hampstead  or  somewhere  for  the  fifteen 
days — it  wouldn't  be  a  scrap  of  trouble." 

They  argued  the  matter  in  whispers  during  the 
progress  of  the  play.  She  said  that  she  wasn't  a 
baby,  and,  with  the  best  of  bridal  egotism,  pro- 
nounced "one  church  as  good  as  another."  He 
wasn't  to  be  silly!  When  was  that  studio  of  his 
to  be  exhibited  to  them?  she  was  eager  to  see 


74  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

it.  Talking  of  Hampstead,  wasn't  there  a  Jack 
Straw's  Castle  there?  She  doted  on  ruins — 
she'd  like  to  go  over  it  one  day.  There  were  a 
lot  of  other  "sights"  in  London  that  she  ought 
to  have  seen;  he  must  remember  she  was  a 
foreigner.  They  compared  lists  of  their  neglected 
duties,  and  she  was  amazed  to  discover  that  the 
Englishman  had  a  worse  record  than  she.  Yes, 
this  comedy  was  quite  good!  She  liked  the 
Carlton  very  much,  especially  the  servants;  but 
the  portions  in  the  restaurant  were  ridiculously 
big,  even  as  one  for  two  persons — she  had  ordered 
a  lovely  dessert  and  been  unable  to  touch  it  when 
the  time  came.  Dardy  expected  him  to  come 
back  with  them  to  supper.  He  couldn't?  That 
was  horrid.  No,  they  wouldn't  go  somewhere 
with  him  instead!  Well,  would  he  come  back 
and  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  hall  ?  It  was  a  very 
pleasant  evening  indeed — and  the  author  of  the 
piece,  who  was  in  the  stalls  behind  them,  felt 
homicidal. 

The  ladies  were  entertained  at  the  studio  on 
the  next  afternoon,  and  Betty  was  secretly  dis- 
mayed by  its  aspect.  Flights  of  stone  steps,  and 
a  sparsity  of  comfort  after  one  had  toiled  to  the 
top,  contrasted  very  badly  with  the  studios  of 
the  eminent  that  she  had  viewed  in  Paris.  She 
resolved  that  the  studio  when  they  took  a  house 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  75 

should  be  far  worthier  of  the  august  pictures  that 
she  didn't  understand.  However,  the  host  was 
so  fervidly  grateful  for  the  visit  that  she  offered 
to  repeat  the  boon. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  mind,  Dardy — he  couldn't 
have  given  us  nicer  cakes  and  candies,  could  he?" 

"I  mind  nothing,  except  his  income,  and  the 
absence  of  an  elevator,"  sighed  Mrs.  Waldehast. 

"I'm  sure  the  tea  was  as  humorous  as  a  bad 
picnic.  The  dilapidated  crone  who  shuffled  in 
with  the  cups  as  big  as  young  wash-bowls  was  a 
dream." 

There  were  various  things  for  the  lovers  to 
arrange  during  the  next  few  days.  To  deter- 
mine their  home  before  the  29th  was  impossible, 
and  they  resolved  to  do  their  house-hunting 
afterwards;  in  the  intervals,  though,  it  would  be 
fun  to  go  out  and  acquire  a  few  necessaries  for  it 
—just  for  an  hour  sometimes,  when  Dardy  didn't 
feel  like  leaving  the  hotel!  They  made  two  or 
three  such  expeditions,  and  Betty  developed 
shining  virtues  in  the  process  of  qualifying  her- 
self for  a  poor  man's  wife. 

She  impressed  upon  him  at  the  start  that  he 
was  to  be  "very  careful."  She  said,  "There  must 
be  no  more  wicked  loveliness  like  this  ring;  I 
mean  it,  Dick!  It  would  hurt  me.  You've  got 
to  treat  me  like  a  sensible  woman."  And  her 


76  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

plan  for  coping  with  his  tendency  towards  ex- 
travagance was  charming — she  forbade  him  to 
take  out  more  than  a  certain  amount,  and  set  her 
dainty  face  against  "cash  on  delivery."  "Now, 
how  much  shall  it  be  this  morning?"  she  would 
say,  perpending  before  she  pinned  on  her  hat. 
It  might  be  that  they  agreed  upon  twenty 
pounds,  or  upon  five ;  but,  whatever  the  sum  was, 
it  had  to  be  the  limit  of  the  morning's  expendi- 
ture. Excepting  for  two  shillings;  she  allowed 
him  two  shillings  in  excess  of  the  sum,  for  the 
purpose  of  ice-cream. 

Then  they  would  sally  forth  in  quest  of  an 
essential  cabinet,  or  a  dinner  service,  and  come 
back  the  happy  owners  of  a  superfluous  gramo- 
phone or  a  Nankin  jar  with  a  branch  of  almond 
blossom  in  it.  It  did  not  occur  to  Betty,  to  dim 
her  complacence,  that  they  had  been  less  practical 
to  spend  the  money  on  a  superfluous  gramo- 
phone than  on  the  essential  cabinet.  Never  did 
they  spend  more  than  he  took  out! — and  her 
triumphant  air  of  self-righteousnes  was  beautiful 
to  see. 

Lynch's  reply  to  the  news  came  by  cable,  and 
it  was  brief.  He  said  nothing  of  his  chagrin,  nor 
did  he  remonstrate ;  but  plainly  he  had  no  belief 
that  his  daughter's  spiritual  elevation  would  be 
maintained :  "When  you  propose  to  come  off  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  77 

roof,  let  me  know."  That  was  all.  It  vexed  her. 
She  did  not  ask  for  her  renunciation  to  be 
acclaimed,  but  she  wished  it  to  be  respected.  The 
reward  for  being  a  heroine  is  the  approval  of 
one's  own  conscience;  still,  it  is  annoying  when 
people  don't  recognise  one's  role. 

The  cable  absolved  Mrs.  Waldehast  from 
further  responsibility,  and  she  was  able  to  coun- 
tenance the  situation  with  a  lighter  heart  now. 
At  this  stage,  too,  it  occurred  to  Keith  that  he 
ought  to  manifest  the  relatives  of  whom  he  had 
spoken.  It  would  probably  be  the  correct  course 
to  take,  though  he  contemplated  it  with  some 
aversion.  His  uncle  had  dissuaded  him  very 
strongly  from  resigning  the  clerkship,  and  had 
always  been  sore  with  him  for  disregarding  the 
advice,  especially  so  since  his  progress  had  proved 
him  right.  The  gentleman,  moreover,  had  smaD 
faith  in  the  possibility  of  any  really  good  woman 
being  discovered  outside  the  United  Kingdom. 

Sir  Percival — he  had  been  knighted  during  the 
last  decade — was  proud  of  many  things.  He  was 
proud  of  his  title,  of  his  great  business,  which  had 
been  quadrupled  since  he  succeeded  to  it,  of  his 
sons  in  the  firm,  and  his  youngest  son,  Stanley, 
who  was  in  Holy  Orders;  not  least  was  he  proud 
of  his  reputation  for  rectitude,  which  stood  high 
in  the  City.  But  when  he  boasted — and  it  was 


78  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

often — one  gathered  that  his  noblest  deed  was  to 
be  born  an  Englishman. 

Like  his  nephew,  he  held  that  every  man  had 
a  duty  to  his  country,  and  his  patriotism  took 
the  form  of  disparaging  every  country  on  the 
Continent.  He  declined  to  cross  the  Channel; 
his  annual  holiday,  with  a  thrifty  wife,  was  spent 
in  Bognor,  or  some  other  south  coast  spot  equally 
depressing,  to  which  they  travelled  third  class. 
"There  is  too  much  want  in  the  world  for  us  to 
waste  money  on  self-indulgence,"  he  would  say. 
But  he  did  nothing  with  his  money  to  abate  the 
want.  He  had  admonished  his  brother  for  allow- 
ing Richard  to  study  art  in  Paris — partly  because 
art  was  frivolous ;  and  partly,  because  Paris  was 
in  France.  He  frowned  upon  alien  improve- 
ments, although  the  insular  variety  might  be 
impracticable.  No  "time-saving  appliance" 
emanating  from  foreign  brains  was  ever  favoured 
by  Keith  &,Sons;  the  office  was  one  of  the  last 
in  East  India  Avenue  to  adopt  the  typewriter, 
and  one  of  the  few  that  still  exalted  the  native 
mahogany  desk,  with  drawers  that  took  five  min- 
utes to  lock,  over  the  transatlantic  article,  in 
which  they  fastened  automatically.  Upon  Amer- 
ica, indeed,  Sir  Percival  was  particularly  severe; 
he  regarded  its  nation  as  swindlers  to  a  man,  and 
its  achievements  as  an  insult  to  the  British 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  79 

Throne.  No  one  could  have  seemed  less  likely 
to  favour  an  engagement  to  Lynch's  daughter. 

Still,  one  ought  to  produce  relations!  And 
Mrs.  Waldehast  had  shown  a  lively  interest  in  the 
title  when  she  heard  it.  Keith  went  to  call  upon 
his  uncle  and  aunt. 

They  had  a  large,  meagrely  furnished  house, 
and  utilitarian  grounds,  in  Clapham  Park,  which 
was  not  the  Clapham  where  Keith  and  his 
mother  had  had  their  lodgings.  There  are  four 
Claphams.  Clapham  Park  is  imposing,  Clapham 
Common  is  successful,  Clapham  Road  is  genteel, 
and  Clapham  Junction  is  low.  Clapham  Park, 
however,  is  as  awkward  a  neighbourhood  to  reach 
as  can  be  found  in  the  whole  of  London,  and  a 
highly  inconvenient  place  of  residence  for  any- 
body who  doesn't  keep  a  motor-car  or  a  carriage. 
Sir  Percival  disapproved  of  motor-cars  and  car- 
riages for  those  blessed  with  health.  On  fine 
mornings  he  walked  briskly  to  the  station  of  the 
City  and  South  London  Railway;  on  wet  morn- 
ings the  livery  stables  supplied  a  cab.  As  to 
Lady  Keith's  convenience,  "I  am  grateful  to  say 
that  my  dear  wife  is  vigorous,"  he  would  explain 
piously,  "and  the  Lord  gave  her  legs."  Keith 
overtook  the  vigorous  lady  trudging  resignedly 
along  the  miles  which  have  recently  been  re- 


80  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

christened  "King's  Avenue.".  She  had  been  buy- 
ing "serviceable  things"  in  Brixton. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  murmured.  "I'm  just 
going  in.  Your  uncle  ought  to  be  back  by  now — 
I  made  him  promise  to  come  home  early  to-day, 
he's  been  poorly  of  late.  Nothing  serious;  he's 
been  suffering  with  a  touch  of  rheumatic 
neuralgia.  We  were  afraid  it  was  his  heart,  but 
the  doctor  says  it  all  comes  from  the  same  thing. 
Such  a  relief  to  us  all!  The  damp  has  been  so 
trying,  it's  pulled  him  down  terribly."  After 
an  appreciable  pause,  she  added,  "And  how  are 
you?" 

"I'm  all  right,  thanks,"  he  said.  "I've  been 
away — in  America." 

"Really  ?    Still  painting,  Richard  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Keith  drily,  "I'm  still  painting." 

"Your  uncle  often  speaks  of  you,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

He  tried  to  look  flattered.  The  lady  sighed. 
"And  what  are  you  painting?"  she  asked,  in  the 
tone  in  which  she  might  have  said,  "And  what 
are  you  going  to  be  when  you  grow  up,  my  little 
man?" 

They  had  reached  the  gate,  and  the  gardener 
informed  them  that  Sir  Percival  had  returned. 
They  found  him  in  the  drawing-room,  reading  the 
evening  papers. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  81 

"What,  Richard?  This  is  indeed  an  unex- 
pected honour!"  he  exclaimed,  with  ponderous 
pleasantry. 

"How  are  you,  sir  ?  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  have 
been  under  the  weather." 

The  knight  related  his  symptoms.  "Where  do 
you  spring  from?"  he  inquired  at  last. 

"He  tells  me  he  has  been  to  America,"  said 
Lady  Keith.  "You  might  touch  the  bell,  Rich- 
ard ;  I'm  dying  for  a  cup  o'  tea." 

"America?  Have  you?  A  strange  country!*' 
He  shook  his  head  heavily.  "A  very  strange 
country!" 

"A  very  wonderful  country,  sir." 

"Wonderful?  Well — y-e-s,  yes,  I  suppose  it 
may  even  be  called  'wonderful.'  Scarcely  the 
word  I  should  apply,  though,  I  think.  'Wonder- 
ful' suggests  to  the  mind  something  worthy  of 
admiration.  'Wonderful'-  However!  Help 
yourself  to  a  cigarette."  He  was  snfoking  a 
cigar.  "What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"I  went  over  to  paint  a  portrait  of  a  Society 
woman,  Mrs.  Waldehast.  I  don't  know  if  you've 
heard  of  her?" 

"I  think  I  have  heard  the  name,"  said  Sir 
Percival.  "A  profitable  commission?" 

"Very." 

"Good!     I  should  like  to  see  you  have  more 


82  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

encouragement.  I'm  afraid,  though,  that  pic- 
tures— He  shook  his  head  again.  "Well, 
well,  we  mustn't  cry  over  spilt  milk!  'Wakle- 
hast'?  Wall  Street,  I  think?" 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Keith.  "They're 
very  well  off,  they  entertain  a  great  deal.  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Waldehast  is  very  intimate  with  Miss 
Lynch." 

"Lynch's  daughter?"  exclaimed  his  aunt. 
"I  didn't  know  he  had  one.  Did  you  see  him 
too?" 

"Lynch!"  put  in  Sir  Percival  sapiently. 
"The  true  embodiment  of  the  American  spirit!" 

"Surely,  sir —  —  ?  The  outcry  against  him  in. 
America  is  a  thousand  times  stronger  than  it  is 
here." 

"My  dear  Richard" — his  emphasis  was  touchy 
— "the  Americans  who  cry  out  would  all  act  in 
exactly  the  same  way  if  they  had  the  power. 
Commercial  integrity  is  unknown  in  America — 
perfectly  unknown!  You  have  just  given  us  an 
instance;  you  speak  of  Society  people  who  are 
Very  intimate'  with  him.  Do  you  imagine  that 
English  people  in  a  similar  position  would  be 
intimate  with  a — a  notorious  scoundrel,  a  man 
who  has  defied  the  laws  of  his  country,  who 
would  be  in  prison  if  justice  were  administered 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  88 

there  as  fearlessly  as  it  is  with  Us?  He  is — he 
is —  However!" 

"I  am  not  defending  Lynch;  I  only  say  that 
he  is  not  typical." 

"I  can  tell  you  of  one  incident  in  the  career  of 
these  Society  people's  intimate  acquaintance," 
went  on  Sir  Percival,  addressing  his  wife,  for  the 
benefit  of  his  nephew.  "The  Trust  had  ar- 
ranged a  'deal'  in  B  stock,  and  Lynch  ruined  a 
medical  man,  with  whom  he  was  on  most  cordial 
terms,  by  deliberately  giving  to  him,  amongst 
others,  a  false  tip.  He  advised  the  man  to  buy 
as  much  B  stock  as  he  could — and  to  buy  before 
noon  the  next  day,  or  'he  would  have  to  pay 
twenty  dollars  more;  the  tip  was  confidential'! 
Of  course  Lynch  counted  upon  his  telling  just 
one  friend,  and  upon  the  friend  telling  another, 
and  so  forth.  The  quotation  opened  firm  the 
next  day — nearly  every  broker  sqemed  to  have 
orders  to  buy  B  stock ;  but  before  twelve  o'clock 
it  was  known  that  the  Trust  had  been  a  con- 
tinuous seller,  and  was  still  forcing  sales.  It  was 
supposed  that  something  was  wrong;  there  was  a 
panic.  Every  buyer  in  the  morning  was  a  seller 
at  best  in  the  afternoon.  The  Trust  had  sold 
half  a  million  stock  by  twelve  o'clock — and  had 
bought  it  back  before  evening  at  an  average  of 
ten  points  less !  In  other  words,  the  Trust  netted 


84  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

five  million  dollars,  and  hundreds  of  people  were 
ruined  in  a  day  to  pay  for  it.  Lynch's  lie  cost 
the  medical  man  the  savings  of  a  lifetime,  and 
he  was  found  dead  in  his  consulting  room.  When 
someone  reproached  Lynch  for  it,  he  sneered. 
'What  of  it?  In  business,  everybody  for  him- 
self!' he  said." 

The  lady  signified  her  horror,  and  passed  the 
buttered  buns.  Keith  decided  not  to  announce 
his  engagement  this  afternoon,  the  conversation 
had  started  on  unfortunate  lines;  he  must  make 
an  excuse  at  the  hotel.  But  when  he  rose  to  leave, 
they  would  not  hear  of  his  going ;  he  was  pressed 
to  remain  and  dine.  After  all,  it  would  be  better 
to  get  the  announcement  over  before  he  went— 
if  he  were  to  stay,  there  would  be  three  or  four 
hours  before  him!  He  sat  down  again;  and  his 
aunt  displayed  with  reverent  hands  a  stole  that 
she  was  embroidering  for  Stanley.  She  was 
"sorry  that  Keith  hadn't  come  on  the  morrow 
instead,  when  Stanley  was  expected."  Sir  Perci- 
val  hospitably  interposed,  "However!" 

It  was  a  dismal  household.  The  two  elder 
boys  had  married  hurriedly,  and  now  that  they 
had  escaped,  it  was  duller  still.  Keith  scarcely 
knew  them,  but  he  sat  regretting  that  they  were 
not  there.  Dinner  came  when  fortitude  was  at 
its  last  inch. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  85 

The  adjournment  was  made  in  silence.  A 
gloomy  parlourmaid  stood  at  attention  by  the 
sideboard.  Sir  Percival,  erect,  muttered  in,  a 
deep  bass,  which  had  in  it  something  peremptory, 
"O  Lord,  relieve  the  wants  of  others,  and  give 
us  grateful  hearts."  And,  having  shifted  the 
responsibility,  tucked  in. 

He  liked  a  good  port — his  prejudices  against 
things  Continental  stopped  short  at  vineyards— 
and  it  was  when  the  port  was  reached  that  Keith 
plucked  up  courage  to  impart  his  news. 

"By  the  way,"  he  began,  "I  have  something 
to  tell  you  both;  I'm  going  to  be  married." 

"Married?"  faltered  Lady  Keith.  Her  hus- 
band stared. 

"Er — we  must  congratulate  you,"  he  said. 

"Thanks  very  much.  I  hope— I  should  like 
her  to  meet  you." 

"Oh  yes,  you  must  bring  the  lady  to  see  us 
one  day.  Your  aunt  will  be —  -  Eh,  Emily?" 

"Oh  yes,  I'm  sure,"  she  said  vaguely. 

"An  engagement  of  long  duration?" 

"No,  it's  very  recent.  -I  met  her  when  I  was  in 
New  York." 

"An  American  lady?"  He  was  raising  his 
glass,  and  it  paused  midway. 

"Yes.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she's  the  daughter 
of  the  man  we  were  speaking  about — Lynch.  I 


86  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

need  hardly  say  she  takes  a  very  different  view 
of  things  from  her  father.  She—  Nobody 
could  fail  to  admire  her  in  every  respect! 
She- 

"  You 're  engaged  to  Lynch's  daughter?"  Sir 
Percival  gasped.  His  mouth  remained  ajar.  He 
set  his  wine  back  on  the  table,  untasted.  After 
a  second  or  two  he  ejaculated,  with  mingled  awe 
and  incredulity,  "You?" 

"Lynch?"  quavered  his  wife.  "The  richest 
man  in  the  world?" 

"One  of  the  richest.  Of  course  she  doesn't 
take  any  money  from  him  now,  or  later.  I 
stipulated  for  that.  I  think,  sir" — he  threw  back 
his  head  proudly — "I  think  very  few  girls, 
American  or  English,  could  do  a  greater  thing 
than  she  is  doing?  She  won't  touch  a  shilling 
of  his  money ;  she  is  content  to  live  on  what  I  can 
make  for  her." 

Sir  Percival  could  be  heard  breathing.  "You 
have  stipulated  that  she  shall  take  no  money  from 
him?"  he  stuttered. 

"Naturally." 

"Richard!"  cried  his  aunt.  "Why,  he  could 
give  her  millions !" 

"I  suppose  he  could."  He  was  beginning  to 
feel  astonished.  "Shameful  millions.  The  amount 
doesn't  affect  the  question." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  87 

"My — my  dear  Richard,"  said  Sir  Percival 
stertorously,  "you  astound  me!  You  are  en- 
gaged to  Lynch' s  daughter — and  you  oppose  his 
making  a  settlement  on  her,  you  oppose  his  tak- 
ing a  course  that  is  only  fit  and  proper?  It's  in- 
conceivable! What — what  possible  justification 
have  you  for  such  a — such  an  act  of  madness?" 

Dumfounded,  Keith  looked  from  the  gentle- 
man to  the  lady.  She  met  him  with,  "I  must  say 
I  think  you're  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence!" 
Her  eyes  were  aghast. 

"Your  view  is  intemperate,"  continued  Sir 
Percival,  in  a  suaver  and  judicial  tone.  "Let  us 
be  just.  Above  all  things,  my  dear  boy,  let  us 
be  just.  The  lady  is  his  child;  it  is  no  more  than 
right  that  on  her  marriage  with  one  less  richly 
blessed  with  worldly  possessions  her  father  should 
provide  for  her  maintenance  in  the  style  she  is 
accustomed  to.  It  is  his  duty.  You  do  not — 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  point  it  out  to  you — you 
do  not  influence  him  to  fulfill  the  many  duties 
that  he  neglects  already  by  resisting  his  fulfil- 
ment of  one  more.  You  are  marrying  her,  I  take 
it,  from  motives  of — er — esteem,  and  so  forth; 
your  sentiments  cannot  be  in  any  way  impugned 
by  your  participating  in  her  financial  advantages. 
It  develops  upon  you  to  do  so.  My  own  sense 
of  honour" — he  said  it  in  large  capitals — "is,  I 


«8  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

think,  sufficiently  well  known  for  my  assurance 
on  the  matter  to  have  some  weight." 

Keith  felt  very  young,  and  was  very  contemp- 
tuous of  himself  for  being  disconcerted.  Mo- 
mentarily he  was  bending  over  a  ledger  again, 
nervous  at  the  sound  of  his  stately  uncle's  foot- 
step in  the  outer  office. 

"Do  you  consider  that  Lynch' s  money  has 
been  fairly  made?"  he  asked.  "The  whole 
thing  resolves  itself  into  that." 

It  was  the  other's  turn  to  be  disconcerted;  his 
denunciation  of  Lynch  was  awkwardly  recent. 
He  sighed.  "This  takes  me  back — I  recognise 
your  mother,"  he  murmured.  "How  I  warned 
her  against  those  wretched  shares!  You  re- 
member, Emily?  She  also  was However!" 

Keith  squared  his  jaw.  Was  he  to  assert 
himself  only  to  poor  little  Betty? 

"I'm  afraid  we're  wandering  from  the  point. 
The  point  is  that  I — in  common  with  the  rest  of 
the  world — regard  Lynch's  millions  as  damn- 
ed- 

"Hush!"  The  knight's  white  hand  expos- 
tulated. 

"I  beg  Aunt  Emily's  pardon — and  yours,  if  I 
have  shocked  you.  We  say  that  a  fortune  which 
has  been  acquired  by  wholesale  trickery  and 
oppression  is  an  infamous  fortune,  that  one  man 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  89 

has  no  right  to  use  his  abnormal  wealth  to  crush 
a  poorer  multitude  out  of  existence.  In  half  the 
States  of  America  he  has  ground  men  to  their 
death,  and  forced  women  and  girls  to  worse  than 
death " 

"Really,  I  must  remonstrate!  Such  allusions 
are  unseemly."  His  nostrils  exhaled  virtue. 
The  lady  pursed  her  mouth;  if  she  had  worn  a 
fringe,  her  eyebrows  would  have  disappeared 
altogether. 

"And  we  hold  him  accursed  for  it,"  con- 
cluded Keith  doggedly.  "If  we  admit  we  were 
mistaken  in  thinking  such  methods  evil,  then  he 
is  owed  a  world-wide  apology;  but  while  we 
continue  to  think  what  we  do  of  them,  the  man 
who  was  willing  to  profit  by  the  methods  would 
be  as  culpable  as  Lynch!" 

Sir  Percival  tapped  the  table,  musing.  He 
rose,  and  forced  a  smile. 

"Always  headstrong,  Richard,"  he  said,  with 
affectionate  regret;  "always  self-willed!" 

The  drawing-room  was  more  oppressive  than 
before,  and  the  visitor  said  good-night  as  early 
as  he  could.  Lady  Keith,  who  had  resumed  her 
reverential  stitches  for  the  clergyman,  repeated 
her  counsel  against  "flying  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence" as  she  turned  a  cheek  to  be  saluted.  The 
knight  magnanimously  asked  for  "Miss  Lynch's 


90  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

address,  that  we  may  call  upon  our  future  niece." 

They  called,  and  toadied  her. 

This  was  Keith's  first  experience  of  the  advice 
that  people  had  to  give  him. 

His  second  was  with  Tomlinson.  Tomlinson 
shared  a  studio  in  the  same  block,  and  had 
chanced  to  be  presented  to  Betty  and  Mrs. 
Waldehast  one  day  when  they  came.  He  was  an 
elderly  little  failure,  with  an  unobservant  man- 
ner and  acute  observation — for  everything  except 
landscape,  which  he  painted.  Apparently  he  had 
been  unconscious  that  the  ladies  were  worth  look- 
ing at,  but  the  next  time  he  met  Keith  on  the 
stairs  he  said  timidly,  "It  was  a  treat  to  see  those 
friends  of  yours.  They're  the  kind  that  glide 
and  sink." 

"That  do  what?" 

"They  move  and  sit  down  properly — the  right 
sort  of  women  glide  and  sink;  the  others  bounce 
and  bump.  I  should  like  to  see  them  again." 

"I  daresay  you  will,"  said  Keith.  "Come  in- 
side and  have  a  drink." 

Tomlinson  crept  in,  with  his  hands  in  his 
trouser:*pockets  and  his  pipe  between  his  teeth. 
With  early  training,  he  might  have  been  a  suc- 
cessful journalist,  or  perhaps  a  detective;  an  en- 
thusiasm for  art  had  condemned  him  to  cheerful- 
ness upon  a  pittance,  and  other  men's  whisky. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  91 

But  for  a  relative  somewhere,  he  would  have 
starved. 

"Done  anything  with  the  studies  you  brought 
back  from  America  yet?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  I  haven't  been  working,  I'm  not  in  the 
vein.  Are  you  busy?" 

Tomlinson  nodded  absently.  He  had  been 
busy  making  the  round  with  a  couple  of  sketches 
and  failing  to  sell  them.  His  feet  ached.  Pres- 
ently he  would  put  the  canvases  back  on  the  easel 
and  devoutly  admire  them.  Mercifully  he  did 
not  know  that  he  couldn't  paint,  and  nobody  but 
a  dealer  would  have  been  brutal  enough  to  say 
so  to  his  sensitive  face. 

"Tomlinson,  I'm  going  to  be  married." 

Tomlinson  smiled  pensively.  "Well!"  he  said, 
not  committing  himself. 

"To  Miss  Lynch,  the  lady  you  saw  here.  I 
shall  be  giving  this  place  up  as  soon  as  I  can. 
Know  anyone  who'd  like  to  take  it  off  my  hands?" 

Tomlinson  reflected.  Not  that  there  was  the 
slightest  prospect  of  his  suggesting  a  tenant,  but 
it  had  the  air  of  being  "more  in  the  swim"  to 
reflect.  "No,"  he  said,  "at  the  moment  I  can't 
say  I  do.  When  is  it  to  be?" 

"On  the  29th." 

"So  soon?  No  relation  to  Lynch,  I  suppose? 
She  is  an  American,  I  think?" 


92  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Yes.    She's  his  daughter." 

"My  dear  fellow!"  gasped  Tomlinson,  drop- 
ping his  pipe.  "I  say!  I  do  congratulate  you, 
upon  my  word.  Lynch's  daughter!  You  aren't 
joking?" 

"Oh  no,  it's  right  enough." 

"And  is  he — agreeable?" 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  know;  it  doesn't  much 
matter.  I'm  marrying  her  because  I'm  fond  of 
her,  not  because  her  father  is  a  millionaire." 

"Oh,  just  so,  just  so!"  said  Tomlinson  hastily. 
"Still,  a  million  or  two  to  go  on  with — what? 
'Giving  this  place  up'?"  He  laughed.  "Yes,  I 
suppose  you  will!  We — we  shan't  be  able  to 
know  you  soon,  eh  ?" 

Keith  explained,  at  some  length,  and  Tomlin- 
son listened  with  dumb  attention.  Then  he 
chuckled  knowingly. 

"You're  pulling  my  leg,"  he  said. 

"I'm  perfectly  serious.  Why  should  it  as- 
tonish you?  You  know  what  the  Trust  is;  I 
think  I've  heard  you  rather  eloquent  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

"Oh,  as  far  as  that  goes All  the  same,  I 

mean  to  say Well,  it's  going  rather  to  ex- 
tremes, isn't  it?" 

"What  is?  Not  to  pocket  one's  Conscience 
when  there's  money  to  be  made  by  it?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  93 

"My  dear  chap!  'Pocket  one's  conscience^'? 
It  isn't  a  question  of  anything  of  the  sort.  The 
question  is  what  good  do  you  do?  That's  what 
you've  got  to  look  at — what  good  do  you  do?"  In 
view  of  millions  declined,  the  gentle,  deprecatory 
little  man  grew  excited,  even  dogmatic.  "Is  any- 
body benefited?  does  it  improve  matters  in  any 
way?  The  Trust  goes  on  whether  you're  sensi- 
ble, or  whether  you  choose  to  sacrifice  a  fortune 
to  a  theory.  No  one  will  thank  you  for  such  a 
piece  of  quixotism,  no  one  will  have  any  rea- 
son to  thank  you!  I  think  I  may  say  my 
honesty  is  above  the  average,  but  I  tell  you 
frankly  I  should  have  no  scruples."  Et  cetera. 

Then  there  was  Premlow,  whose  "Shelling  the 
Peas"  and  "How  Does  it  Suit  Me?"  had  both 
been  immortalised  in  Summer  Numbers,  and 
framed  in  so  many  lodging-houses.  Premlow's 
argument  was  that  one  would  be  more  than 
justified  in  luxuriating  on  a  scandalous  income 
if  one  devoted  a  considerable  portion  of  one's 
wealth  to  charities.  "A  far  more  practical  form 
of  what  d'ye  call  it,  my  dear  boy,  than  riding  the 
high  horse!"  And  there  was  Tracey  Wynne,  the 
literary  stylist,  who  ejaculated  "Tosh!"  And 
there  was  the  sceptic  who  was  reminded  of 
Carlyle's  philosophy  when  his  wife  was  excruci- 
ated with  toothache — "It  will  not  be  permanent." 


94  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

It  was  remarkable  how  the  news  spread,  and 
with  what  promptitude  many  persons  who  had 
called  Lynch's  business  methods  "an  outrage  on 
humanity"  would  have  accepted  a  share  of 
his  profits. 

For  the  honeymoon,  Paris  had  been  suggested. 
Betty  had  travelled  on  the  Continent  much  more 
than  Keith,  but  she  had  missed,  or  forgotten, 
most  of  the  things  that  he  craved  to  see  there. 
From  Rome  she  had  brought  only  a  vague  re- 
membrance of  the  Michael  Angelos—  'The 
Eternal  Separating  Light  from  Darkness'  was 
one  of  the  frescoes  on  the  ceiling  somewhere, 
wasn't  it?"  She  had  spent  a  week  in  Vienna,  but 
was  not  sure  if  she  had  seen  Rembrandt's  portrait 
of  his  mother.  In  Dresden,  the  Sistine  Madonna 
had  been  impressed  on  her  mind  chiefly  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  reproduced  on  all  the  postcards 
in  the  shop  windows.  Eager  to  be  a  companion, 
she  had  told  Keith  that  he  must  take  her  to  the 
Louvre  and  teach  her  to  understand — he  must 
explain  to  her  why  the  pictures  that  he  loved  best 
were  beautiful.  And  he  had  promised,  promising 
himself  at  the  same  time  not  to  bore  her.  Then 
she  decided  that  she  would  prefer  the  country  in 
England — "that  would  be  new  to  her."  She  re- 
frained from  adding  that  Paris,  visited  econo- 
mically, would  also  be  new  to  her,  and  less  pleas- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  96 

antly  so.  They  wanted  rusticity  without  dis- 
comfort, rural  scenes  to  wander  in,  and  civilised 
quarters  to  return  to.  Finally,  an  hotel  between 
Tunbridge  Wells  and  the  village  of  Rusthall  was 
chosen.  If  the  weather  were  kind,  the  situation 
would  fulfil  their  requirements  perfectly;  and  if 
it  were  wayward,  they  would  try  the  other  side 
of  the  Channel  after  all. 

On  the  evening  of  the  28th,  Betty  opened  a 
door  and  saw  her  maid  packing  for  her.  The 
wardrobe  that  was  to  serve  as  her  trousseau  was 
not  particularly  extensive,  nor  was  there  any 
valuable  lace  among  it — she  had  always  elected 
to  dress  with  comparative  simplicity  and  seldom 
paid  more  than  thirty  or  forty  guineas  for  a 
frock.  Having  sailed  in  May,  and  expecting  to 
be  absent  only  for  a  month,  she  had  brought 
scarcely  any  of  her  furs,  overlooking  the  fact 
that  she  was  bound  for  a  country  where  the  winter 
often  began  in  September  and  continued  into 
June.  The  only  precious  thing  among  her  be- 
longings here  was  her  rope  of  pearls,  and  that 
was  worth  so  great  a  sum  that  she  felt  she  would 
be  inconsistent  to  keep  it.  She  meant  to  give  it 
to  Dardy  Waldehast — she  had  it  in  her  hands 
as  she  watched  the  maid  kneeling  before  a  trunk. 
The  woman  was  going  back  to  New  York  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  and  the  thought  came  to  Betty, 


96  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

as  she  paused  there,  that  she  was  watching  a 
maid  pack  for  the  last  time.  The  task  looked 
more  than  ever  odious.  She  was  about  to  part 
with  her  pearls  cheerfully,  but  it  dismayed  her 
to  reflect  that  henceforward  she  would  have  to 
submit  herself  to  the  turmoil  of  packing.  How- 
ever, she  would  not  dwell  on  the  point. 

"I  want  you  to  have  this,  Dardy,"  she  said 
presently;  "I  shan't  put  it  in." 

"What  on  earth ?"  said  the  other. 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  fair;  I  promised 
empty  pockets — it  wouldn't  be  playing  the  game 
to  go  to  him  with  a  property  round  my  neck." 

"I  never  heard  anything  to  equal  you!  It's 
too  beautiful  to  last.  Anyhow,  I  can't  take  a  gift 
like  that  from  you.  If  you're  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  it,  you  had  better  send  it  back  to  your  father." 

"What  do  you  propose  that  my  father  should 
do  with  it — wear  it  in  his  hair?  I  want  you  to 
take  it,  Dardy ;  you  will  oblige  me." 

Mrs.  Waldehast  shrugged  her  shoulders:  "I'll 
take  it,  but  I  shall  give  it  to  him  when  I  arrive. 
You're  a  regular  simpleton  to  let  it  go." 

But  Betty  did  not  feel  a  simpleton,  she  felt 
very  happy — and  very  brave.  The  prospect  of 
the  packing  was  forgotten — it  was  the  eve  of  her 
wedding  day.  "I'd  think  you  a  nobler  woman," 
he  had  said.  And  she  was  being  nobler!  she 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  97 

triumphed  in  the  consciousness.  Oh,  she  would 
always  live  up  to  his  ideal — no  doubt  one  could 
get  used  to  anything.  Besides, — she  hated  to 
hear  Dardy  suggest  it,  and  she  never  harboured 
the  thought,  but  she  couldn't  help  its  encouraging 
flight  across  her  reverie  in  moments, — it  was  just 
possible  that  later  on  he  might  change  his  mind! 
Not  that  she  would  ever  ask  him  to  do  such  a 
thing ! — she  was  thoroughly  sincere. 

She  felt  very  happy — and  very  brave.  There 
would  be  none  of  the  pageantry  that  she  had  al- 
ways pictured  for  her  wedding  day — no  strings 
of  carriages,  no  train-bearers  and  bridesmaids, 
no  dazzle  of  presents  at  a  reception,  no  motor- 
car to  take  her  away.  But  she  was  marrying  the 
man  she  loved.  And  after  she  had  kissed  her 
friend  good-night,  she  knelt,  and  pleaded,  "Help 
me  to  be  as  good  as  I  mean  to  be!  And  if  I  do 
find  it  a  little  rough  sometimes,  O  God,  pray  don't 
let  Dick  guess!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

"LOVELIEST!" 

"Mmps?" 

"What  shall  we  do  this  afternoon?" 

"It's  time  you  did  some  real  work,  lazy-bones. 
Come  out  and  paint  the  Happy  Valley." 

"I  can't  paint  out  of  doors  this  afternoon,  the 
changes  are  so  rapid  when  it's  sunny.  Let  me  do 
another  sketch  of  you — I  haven't  painted  your 
dimple  yet." 

"It  makes  one  awful  conceited  to  marry  an 
artist — there'll  be  enough  portraits  of  me 'soon 
to  fill  a  gallery.  Where  shall  I  sit,  Master?" 

"Here,  Most  Unique!" 

Then  she  would  sit  in  his  chair,  and  stroke  his 
hair  the  wrong  way  again,  and  be  tender,  or  way- 
ward, but  always  the  most  wonderful  thing  that 
ever  wore  hairpins  and  was  miscalled  "mortal." 
He  had  told  her  on  the  third  day  that  there  were 
twelve,  of  her,  and  that  he  never  knew  which 
"Betty"  he  was  to  see  next.  She  said  she  wouldn't 
allow  him  to  be  nice  to  the  "other  eleven,"  but 
he  found  it  entrancing.  He  was  the  playmate 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  99 

! 

of  a  child,  and  the  disciple  of  a  woman;  he  was 
teased  by  a  coquette,  and  captured  her  to  clasp 
a  wife. 

Aflame,  he  painted  her  in  a  white  dinner-gown, 
and  in  a  rose  peignoir ;  he  painted  her  coiling  her 
hair  before  the  mirror.  He  painted  her  with  that 
chin  of  hers  scorning  him,  and  called  the  sketch, 
"Mr.  Keith,  You  will  please  Take  Me  Back  to 
the  Room."  "Oh,  the  disdain  of  the  dearest!" 
he  cried,  and  showered  kisses  on  her,  rejoicing. 

Also  he  was  the  lady's  maid  of  a  girl  who 
didn't  know  how  to  fasten  her  frocks — and  who 
found  it  perplexing  that  her  hat,  and  her  gloves, 
and  her  sunshade  failed  to  come  to  her  of  their 
own  accord. 

The  white  dinner-gown  had  been  especially 
maddening.  It  became  her  so  well,  and  she  had 
wanted  to  surprise  him  in  it  one  evening;  she 
sent  him  away  long  before  the  first  gong  was 
beaten,  so  that  she  might  have  plenty  of  time. 
It  was  not  until  she  had  done  her  hair  and  was 
approving  it  in  the  glass,  that  she  remembered 
that  the  bodice  fastened  down  the  back. 

She  rang  for  help  from  the  chambermaid,  but 
the  woman's  fingers  seemed  to  be  all  thumbs, 
and  at  last,  when  she  uttered  a  triumphant 
"There!"  after  twenty  exhausting  minutes,  it 
was  perceived  that  she  had  strained  all  the  hooks 


100  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

into  the  wrong  loops.    A  tantrum  sent  her  flying 
to  her  washhand- stands. 

And  the  second  gong  had  sounded  a  long  while 


It  dashed  the  bride's  pretty  intentions  to  the 
ground  that  Keith  knocked  at  the  door,  and  was 
admitted,  looking  very  nice  and  composed,  while 
she  sat  deserted  on  the  edge  of  the  ottoman,  hot 
and  despairing. 

"Oh,  Dick,"  she  exclaimed  tearfully,  "I'm  such 
a  fraud!" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  can't  fasten  this  loathsome  dress  down  the 
back.  That  Annie's  a  born  fool!  Go  and  have 
your  dinner,  darling — don't  wait  for  me." 

"My  poor  little  kiddymalinks !  Let  me  try 
if  7  can  button  it." 

She  laughed. 

"I  might,"  he  urged;  "I'd  be  better  than 
Annie." 

"I  was  laughing  at  the  'button' — they  aren't 
buttons,  savage,  they're  little  hooks  and  loops. 
Well,  go  on  then,  try — if  you  don't  want  any- 
thing to  eat." 

It  was  a  superhuman  task.  The  hidden  hooks 
began  on  the  right-hand  side,  and,  when  he  was 
getting  in  the  way  of  discovering  them  there, 
dodged  on  to  the  left.  The  evasive  loops  were 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  101 

even  more  infuriating;  it  demanded  genius  to 
decide,  without  fatal  experiment,  which  was  the 
loop  and  which  was  the  pattern  of  the  lace.  Yet 
his  perseverance  was  likewise  superhuman.  And 
wasn't  it  Olympian  to  be  fastening  her  bodice? 
Although  their  dinner  when  they  got  it  had  lost 
the  bloom  of  its  first  youth,  they  were  joyous — 
and  deserved  their  champagne. 

They  had  no  fault  to  find  with  their  Eden.  In 
their  indolent  moods  they  sauntered,  or  sat,  un- 
der the  great  trees  of  the  grounds.  If  the 
thought  of  shops  tempted,  they  strolled  across  the 
common  to  the  Pantiles,  where  the  airs  from  a 
modern  bandstand  did  not  drown  the  rustle  of  a 
stately  past.  They  bought  the  print  of  bygone 
belles  and  gallants,  or  book-markers  and  brushes 
of  the  native  ware.  One  evening  they  witnessed 
Dick  Turpin's  Ride  to  York,  in  a  tent,  and  when 
Tom  King,  the  Gentleman  Highwayman,  cried: 
"We  are  pursood!  'Ark,  I  'ear  the  sound  of 
'orses'  'ooves!"  Betty  was  in  raptures  with  the 
performance. 

Of  tenest  they  turned  to  the  right,  past  the  little 
post  office  next  door  to  the  hotel,  where  they  sent 
their  telegram  to  Mrs.  Waldehast  before  she 
sailed.  Then  they  wandered  into  Rusthall.  Vil- 
lage children  who  had  never  smelt  the  sea  ran 
perilously  on  the  rocks  that  it  had  left  behind, 


102  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

but  after  the  sand-castles  and  the  children,  all 
was  grass  and  silence,  excepting  for  the  birds. 

Betty  liked  RusthaU  better  than  "The  Wells." 
She  liked  the  sight  of  the  little  ivy-clad  church 
on  the  edge  of  the  Happy  Valley ;  and  there  was 
the  nook  that  she  had  found,  perched  above  the 
sweep  of  woodland.  She  said  that  they  "must 
often  come  back  there  when  they  grew  up." 

"It's  just  the  kind  of  church  I  meant,"  she  ex- 
plained once. 

"But  we  couldn't  be  more  content,"  said  Keith. 
It  was  the  day  that  he  had  painted  her  contemp- 
tuous, and  the  marvel  of  their  marriage  was  full 
upon  him.  The  nook  was  newly  magical  this 
afternoon.  "To  think  how  nearly  I  lost  you !  To 
think  that  I  might  have  been  in  the  studio 
now " 

"Being  industrious!" 

"Eating  my  heart  out!  I  wonder  if  you'd 
have  been  remembering  me — I  wonder  what 
you'd  have  been  doing  now  if  we  hadn't  mar- 
ried?" 

"What  time  is  it  in  New  York?" 

He  looked  at  his  watch:  "It's  still  morning — 
about  twelve." 

"Isn't  that  funny!  Perhaps  I'd  have  been  in 
bed  and  asleep,  if  I  had  been  out  late  last  night." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  108 

"Then  you  wouldn't  have  been  thinking  of  me 
at  all.  While  iwas- 

"  Stamping  up  and  down  the  studio  and  calling 
for  Miss  Lynch!  Well,  I  might  have  been 
dreaming  about  you,  you  know.  Or  perhaps 
I'd  have  given  a  thought  to  you  when  they 
brought  in  my  coffee." 

"Had  you  a  wonderful  room,  Betty?" 

She  nodded. 

"Tell  me  what  it  was  like." 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?" 

"How  I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  room  like 
it!" 

"Goose!    Do  you  think  I  care?" 

"Don't  you?" 

"Do  I?"  she  whispered. 

Their  eyes  dwelt  together,  and  he  grasped  her 
hand. 

Rain  clouds  had  sombred  the  sky,  and  the  land- 
scape was  purpling.  Far  afield  little  curls  of 
smoke  wreathed  bluely  in  the  haze — the  smoke 
of  homes. 

"I'm  afraid  there's  a  storm  brewing!" 

But  the  power  of  the  church  survived;  she 
loitered  before  the  gate,  as  she  always  did. 

"We'll  come  here  on  Sunday  morning  if  you 
like?"  he  said. 


104  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"I'd  like  to  peep  in  now,"  she  told  him,  and  he 
followed  her  inside. 

It  was  very  quiet  and  dim  there.  They  waited 
for  a  moment  by  the  door,  looking  towards  the 
east  window. 

"It's  just  the  kind  of  church  I  meant,"  she  re- 
peated under  her  breath. 

He  answered  with  a  touch  upon  her  arm,  and 
they  crept  across  the  tiled  floor  together,  and 
paused  at  the  foot  of  the  chancel  steps. 

She  murmured,  "It's  just  here  we  should  have 
stood." 

The  man's  touch  slid  from  her  arm  to  her  hand, 
and  the  hand  welcomed  it.  Then,  as  they  moved 
away,  she  dropped  behind  him.  When  he 
looked  round  she  was  but  half-way  down  the 
aisle,  musing  again. 

Her  fingers  greeted  his  return,  but  her  gaze 
still   brooded   on   the   window.      Presently    she 
faltered,  "Dickie,  I  want  to  'fess.    I  wasn't  sur- 
prised that  day." 
:  "When?" 

"On  the  boat.  I  told  her  to  tell  you  I  was 
going,  Dickie ;  I  mean  to  make  you  give  in.  ... 
I  feel  so  small!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  accommodation  at  the  studio  was  much 
too  primitive  for  them  to  live  there  even  for  a  few 
weeks,  so  on  their  return  to  town  they  stayed  at 
another  hotel,  and  were  provided  with  a  fresh  list 
of  disappointments  by  a  house  agent  every  day. 
It  was  not  such  a  spacious  hotel  as  the  one  that 
they  had  left,  nor  was  it  quite  so  opulent.  The 
other  women's  appraising  gaze  at  Betty  was  not 
always  due  to  the  fact  that  the  newspapers  had 
made  her  marriage  famous — every  woman  there 
did  not  recognise  her  name;  but  every  startled 
pair  of  feminine  eyes  recognised  the  hang  of  her 
skirt.  Despite  the  hooks  and  loops,  Keith  had 
privately  resolved  that  if  he  could  help  it  she 
should  never  dress  more  cheaply — the  man  no 
longer  exists  who  sees  a  girl  perfectly  gowned 
and,  "duped  by  the  subtle  simplicity,"  thinfes 
that  her  clothes  cost  ten  pounds  a  year.  His 
ghost  still  haunts  fiction,  but  the  man  is  in  his 
proper  place. 

After  various  expeditions  to  Chelsea,  where 
everything  was  either  too  dear  or  too  nasty, 

105 


106  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

they  decided  upon  a  semi-detached  house  in  St. 
John's  Wood.  The  street,  unspoilt  by  the 
railway,  was  called  Sibella  Road,  and  the  house 
was  called  something  grandiloquent.  However, 
there  was  the  simple  remedy  of  reducing  it  to 
a  number.  A  small  cheque  improved  the  land- 
lord's taste  in  wall-papers,  and  it  remained  for 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Keith  to  furnish  the  villa  more 
completely  than  with  a  gramophone  and  a  Nan- 
kin jar. 

"Nothing  happens  but  the  unforeseen" — a 
proverb  that  has  more  truth  than  most  of  its 
companions.  When  Keith  had  vaguely  imagined 
himself  enlisting  among  the  Benedicts,  he  had 
had  visions  of  wanderings  and  hunts,  of  delight- 
ful "finds"  and  precious  "bits";  to  go  to  a  firm 
and  order  en  bloc  had  seemed  to  him  a  frenzy  of 
philistinism;  yet  this  was  just  what  he  and  Betty 
did,  for  they  were  eager  to  be  settled  as  soon 
as  possible. 

There  was  an  establishment  in  the  West  End 
which  undertook  to  equip  anything  from  a 
cottage  to  a  mansion,  and  to  show  in  advance 
precisely  what  effect  the  customer  would  obtain 
for  his  money.  The  report  ran  that  it  was 
merely  necessary  to  state  the  sum  that  one  meant 
to  spend,  and,  with  the  celerity  of  Aladdin's 
Lamp,  Commercial  Enterprise  displayed  one's 


HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  107 

future  dwelling.  Keith  meant  to  spend  much 
more  than  he  could  afford — he  had  felt  that  to 
be  reasonable  in  the  preparation  of  Betty's 
home  would  be  an  act  of  barbarity.  The 
painter's  profession  makes  erratic  accountants; 
the  artist  who,  by  a  lucky  chance,  sells  a  month's 
work  for  a  hundred  guineas  is  liable  to  say, 
"That  means  nearly  thirteen  hundred  a  year," 
and  to  live  up  to  it  till  the  writs  come  in.  Three 
hundred  pounds  Keith  meant  to  spend;  and 
Betty — to  whom  it  was  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  revelation  that  this  didn't  imply  an  ab- 
sence of  carpets — protested  valiantly  that  it  was 
"too  much."  They  took  a  cab  to  the  establish- 
ment. 

The  amount  sounded  less  important  to  him 
when  he  mentioned  it  amid  the  splendours  of  the 
showroom,  but  the  gentleman  who  received  them 
heard  it  with  respectful  interest,  and  accom- 
panied them  part  of  their  way.  Their  future 
residence,  they  learnt,  was  upstairs;  a  lift  would 
bear  them  to  its  door. 

The  door  stood  hospitably  ajar;  there  was  no 
need  for  them  to  try  whether  the  antique  bell-pull 
would  pull  a  bell.  They  entered,  smiling,  and 
stole  through  the  tiny  hall.  Beyond  the  mimic 
casements  they  had  glimpses  of  a  canvas  garden. 
No  maid  was  manifest,  but  their  abode  stood 


108  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

ready  for  their  coming.  Flowers  gave  them  wel- 
come from  a  table ;  books  invited  from  a  Sheraton 
recess  beside  the  hearth. 

They  discovered  the  Best  Bedroom.  He  saw 
her  open  with  her  own  hands  the  wardrobe 
where  she  was  to  hang  her  sacred  things.  On 
the  dummy  window  the  morning  sun  shone 
bright,  and  he  pictured  it  shining  on  her  face 
between  those  draperies  when  she  woke.  Grow- 
ing bold  in  domesticity,  they  chose  their  pet 
corners  in  the  drawing-room.  "Could  you  be 
satisfied  here,  darling?"  he  whispered;  and  she 
nodded  surely.  "You  shall  have  that  chair, 
Dickie,  and  this  one  shall  be  mine."  She  sat. 
"It's  good  to  be  at  home,  my  husband!"  she 
laughed.  And  in  the  cardboard  house  he  bent 
and  kissed  her. 

They  viewed  the  room  where  they  would  sup, 
where  champagne  should  celebrate  the  triumph 
of  a  picture,  and  wHere  the  queen,  in  the  rose 
peignoir,  should  be  pampered  when  tired.  And 
then,  just  as  they  were  remembering  that  there 
were  preliminaries  to  be  performed,  there  ap- 
peared on  the  enchanted  scene  a  young  and  win- 
ning hostess. 

Under  the  lady's  graceful  guidance  they  in- 
spected more  practically.  She  hinted  that  the 
"leaded  panes"  which  gave  on  to  the  painted 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  109 

garden  would  be  "extras"  if  imitated  in  Sibella 
Road.  There  were  one  or  two  such  trifling  dis- 
illusions. For  instance,  Keith  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  the  antique  brass  fire-irons  and  electric  fittings 
in  the  room,  and  those  were  not  included  in  the 
three  hundred  pounds  either.  But  the  charming 
hostess  reminded  him  that  there  were  probably 
some  other  articles  here  that  he  would  not  need 
at  all,  and  if  that  were  so,  the  antique  brass  could 
be  had  instead.  She  seemed  to  take  as  kind  an 
interest  in  the  happy  pair  as  if  she  had  made  up 
the  match,  and  Betty  said  afterwards  that,  dainty 
as  the  House  on  the  Landing  was,  its  young 
hostess  was  the  most  delightful  thing  that  it  con- 
tained. 

It  was  much  simpler  to  furnish  than  to  find 
two  servants.  The  capital  cook  and  accomplished 
house-parlour-maid  who  advertised  for  employ- 
ment at  such  moderate  wages  had  always  taken 
a  situation  on  the  day  that  Betty  wrote  to  the 
address  that  was  given.  And  the  address  always 
proved  to  be  a  registry  office,  where  a  booking 
fee  failed  to  disclose  any  domestic  comparable 
with  the  treasures  that  had  simultaneously  van- 
ished. But  even  two  servants  were  obtained  at 
last,  and  the  evening  came  when  the  love  scene 
in  the  cardboard  house  was  re-enacted  in  Sibella 
Road.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Keith  were  at  home. 


110  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

It  was  beautiful,  next  morning,  to  send  him 
upstairs  to  the  studio  after  breakfast  and  kiss 
him  for  luck.  He  had  told  her  that  he  expected 
her  to  come  in  there  as  often  as  she  liked,  but 
she  was  much  too  clever  to  have  the  illusion  that 
frequent  visits  would  make  for  progress,  and 
she  intended  that  his  work-hours  should  be  re- 
spected. After  she  had  sat  by  the  window,  glanc- 
ing at  the  newspaper — which  was  so  stingy  with 
its  news  of  America — it  occurred  to  her  to  put  a 
few  touches  to  the  little  drawing-room.  Its  as- 
pect would  be  improved  by  some  more  cushions 
and  flowers,  and  the  piano  needed  draping.  To 
buy  some  of  the  things  before  Keith  came  down 
would  pass  the  time!  She  wondered  if  there 
were  any  good  shops  close  by,  and  rang  on  im- 
pulse for  her  hat  and  shoes. 

It  disconcerted  her  that  the  ring  evoked  a 
frowsy  and  forbidding  cook,  who  said  shortly, 
"Good-mornin',  ma'am.  Shall  I  take  the 
horders?" 

Betty  caught  her  breath.  To  her  the  comic 
element  of  the  surprise  was  lacking.  The  moment 
was  no  less  grave  to  the  girl  than  to  the  man 
confronting  his  work  overhead.  She  knew  that 
it  was  a  crisis;  that,  underlying  the  petty  shock, 
was  the  test  of  her  fitness  to  be  his  wife — and  her 
hopeless  inexperience  frightened  her.  But  it  was 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  111 

Lynch's  daughter  who,  on  the  brink  of  disaster, 
answered,  "Yes,  please,  cook,  I  have  got  to  see 
you  now."  And  it  was  said  very  well;  so  far  the 
cook  hadn't  found  her  out. 

"What  about  lunch  and  dinner  'm?" 

Excepting  in  a  restaurant,  she  had  never 
ordered  a  meal  in  her  life. 

"We  don't  want  anything  elaborate,"  she  said; 
"we  live  very  simply." 

"Yes  'm." 

"We  shall  want  some  hors-d'oeuvres,  and  a 
little  consomme,  and — and  some  supreme  de 
sole " 

"Some  what  of  sole?"  asked  the  woman,  bridl- 
ing. "What  might  it  all  be  in  Henglish  'm?  I 
was  given  to  understand  as  it  was  plain  cooking 
you  required." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Betty.  "Give  us  a  little 
caviare,  or  a  few  anchovies,  and  some  soup.  And 
we  shall  want  some  fish,  and  so  on." 

"How  much?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  wish  for  any  waste — say,  one  por- 
tion between  two,"  said  Betty  laudably,  and 
realised  that  she  had  blundered  by  the  stare. 

Here  was  meanness!  And  with  a  dress  like 
that  on  her  back!  "One  portion  between  the 
two?"  stammered  the  cook,  agape. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Well,  you  get  what  you  think  right."  It  was 
distressingly  new  to  her  to  be  timid  of  a  servant. 

"You'll  leave  the  quantities  to  me,  ma'am?" 
She  smirked.  Not  meanness  after  all — only 
idiocy!  She  viewed  her  harvest.  "And  will  you 
want  a  joint?" 

"No.  We  might  have  a  few  sweetbreads,  and 
a  little  poultry,  and — well,  yes,  I  suppose  Mr. 
Keith  would  like  some  meat.  Lamb." 

The  harvest  demanded  labour;  the  smirk  sub- 
sided. "And — er — vegetables?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Betty,  "of  course!" 

"I  meant,  what  are  they  to  be  'm?" 

She  sighed.  "Well,  green  peas  and  beans," 
she  said. 

"Both  of  'em?" 

"Well,  one  or  the  other." 

"No  potatoes  'm?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  want  potatoes,"  gasped 
Betty;  "do  you  think  I  dine  without  potatoes?" 

The  woman  sniffed.  "What  about  sweets?" 
she  asked,  with  umbrage. 

"You  can  make  us  a  macedoine." 

"A  what?"  The  tone  was  grim. 

"What  do  you  suggest?"  inquired  the  mistress 
feebly. 

"Would  you  like  a  nice  rice  pudden,  or  a 
happle  pie?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  113 

"I  think  we  will  have  meringues." 

"Meringues?  Of  course,  then,  you'll  border 
'em  when  you  go  hout?  Hi  couldn't  undertake 
'em." 

"You  will  send  your  fellow-servant.  And  you 
will  send  up  some  strawberries  and  pears, 
please." 

"There's  no  pears  in." 

"I  don't  want  them  till  the  evening;  there  is 
plenty  of  time  to  get  them  in  before  dinner." 

"They  ain't  'in,'  "  explained  the  woman  curt- 
ly, "ain't  in  season." 

Were  there  seasons  to  be  considered?  Were 
there  such  servants  to  be  endured?  Nothing 
comic  for  the  girl,  indeed!  It  was  painful, 
piteous,  worse — immeasurably  worse,  than  the 
studio  on  one  of  the  days  when  the  hand  was  but 
a  brush-holder  and  refused  to  "speak." 

And  there  was  luncheon  to  be  arranged;  and 
the  knowledge  that,  with  the  morrow,  the  duty 
would  recur.  She  had  no  wish  to  go  and  buy 
flowers,  when  the  door  closed  behind  a  complaint 
about  the  kitchen  range. 

She  sat  back,  and  looked  at  the  room  with 
other  eyes.  Beyond  it  she  saw  the  palace  in 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  the  mansion  that  was  called 
a  "cottage"  in  Newport.  For  the  first  time  she 
paid  a  tribute  to  the  silence  of  their  domestic 


114  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

machinery.  Now  that  she  came  to  think  about 
it,  it  was  surprising  how  everything  had  ar- 
ranged itself! 

In  the  early  afternoon,  a  headlong  rush  of 
rattling  traffic,  followed  by  the  clatter  and  crash 
of  cans,  shook  her  from  her  chair,  dismayed. 
She  found  that  small  quantities  of  milk,  from 
various  dairies,  were  being  taken  to  some  of  the 
doors.  The  violence  raged  from  two  o'clock 
till  three,  and  she  wondered  at  the  strange  land 
where  a  pennyworth  of  milk  was  delivered  with 
the  frenzy  of  a  revolution. 

Later,  she  and  Keith  went  for  a  walk.  St. 
John's  Wood  did  not  prove  to  be  a  very  ex- 
hilarating quarter,  and  the  sad  Wellington  Road 
offered  few  attractions  as  a  promenade.  She 
felt  no  enthusiasm  when  he  mentioned  that  they 
might  drop  in  to  Lord's  and  watch  the  cricket 
sometimes.  Though  he  had  trembled  in  think- 
ing that  the  rooms  were  not  large  enough  for 
her,  that  the  furniture  was  not  good  enough,  his 
misgivings  hadn't  comprised  the  thought  that 
she  might  be  dejected  by  the  housekeeping,  and 
he  attributed  her  depression  to  the  hours  that  she 
had  passed  alone.  He  suggested  that  she  should 
subscribe  to  Mudie's  on  the  morrow,  and  re- 
minded her  that  he  knew  one  or  two  men  in  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  115 

neighbourhood  whose  wives  would  be  glad  of  her 
friendship. 

On  their  return,  she  changed  her  frock,  and 
Keith,  who  had  not  guessed  that  she  was  going 
to  do  so,  looked  rather  slovenly  beside  her  smart- 
ness when  he  hooked  it.  But  it  was  too  late  to 
repair  his  omission  now. 

The  evening  meal  was  indifferently  cooked, 
and  it  was  abominably  served.  The  maid,  who 
had  been  merely  awkward  during  the  brief 
luncheon,  lost  her  wits  among  the  unaccustomed 
courses  of  dinner.  The  wife  had  entered  wistful 
for  a  few  words  of  praise,  but  soon  she  yearned 
only  for  the  ordeal  to  conclude. 

The  salt  had  not  been  smoothed.  Bread,  in 
the  monstrosity  of  a  cottage  loaf,  had  been  set 
at  a  corner  of  the  table,  and,  in  the  process  of 
cutting  it,  there  were  shot  across  the  cloth  enough 
crumbs  for  a  chicken-run.  A  spot  from  the 
luncheon's  gravy  proclaimed  that  the  cloth  had 
done  previous  service ;  the  napkins  were  tumbled. 

"I  thought  they  would  know  enough  to  put 
on  others,"  she  exclaimed  penitently. 

"These  are  all  right,  aren't  they?"  he  said, 
surprised. 

She  kept  her  eyes  down.  "Well,  yes,"  she 
faltered,  "I  suppose  they'll  do."  She  wouldn't 


116  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

let  him  see  it,  but  it  startled  her  to  learn  that  he 
didn't  expect  clean  napery  at  every  meal. 

There  were  intervals  that  threatened  to  be  end- 
less, followed  by  cascades  of  cutlery,  as  the 
flustered  servant,  in  her  creaking  boots,  bustled 
back  with  the  knives  and  forks  that  had  been 
forgotten.  She  popped  the  vegetable  dishes  in 
front  of  Betty,  and  when  she  was  instructed  to 
hand  them,  breathed  heavily  on  the  wrong 
side. 

"It's  an  awful  change  for  you,  dear,"  said 
Keith,  during  one  of  the  excited  colloquies  in  the 
kitchen. 

She  struggled  for  a  smile.    "Oh,  it's  nothing!" 

But  the  tension  was  greater  for  her  than  he 
divined,  sorry  and  shamefaced  as  he  was.  She 
could  have  dined  happily  on  bread-and-butter  in 
a  clean  field;  this  vulgar  racket  set  her  nerves 
quivering. 

"I  expect  it's  my  own  fault;  I've  given  them 
too  much  to  do,"  she  murmured,  with  dry  lips. 
"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  we  had  just  one 
or  two  things  in  future  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  we  need  be  quite  so  ex- 
tensive, certainly,"  he  agreed.  He  had  been 
thinking  that  they  could  not  afford  it,  and  un- 
consciously the  thought  was  in  his  voice. 

Misery  gripped  her  throat.  She  stared  dumbly 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  117 

through  the  open  window  into  the  back  yard. 
The  toilette  that  she  made  weighed  on  her — she 
felt  ridiculous  to  be  well  dressed.  Her  husband 
had  sat  down  in  a  tweed  jacket,  the  table  linen 
was  soiled,  the  servants  were  unspeakable,  it  was 
all  revolting — and  he  hinted  to  her  that  it  was 
extravagance ! 

Years  of  her  life  she  would  have  given  at  that 
instant  to  be  alone,  to  be  free  to  scream  unheard. 
Down  her  arms,  to  her  very  finger-tips,  hysteria 
was  clamouring  in  her. 

The  relief  was  physical  when  she  rose  at  last; 
but  though  she  hurried  to  her  room,  she  dared 
not  scream.  She  clenched  her  hands  and  beat 
them  hard  against  the  wall  instead. 

She  could  not  stay  away  long. 

Dusk  was  gathering  when  she  descended.  In 
the  half-light  the  little  drawing-room  had  a 
melancholy  air.  Farther  down  Sibella  Road  an 
ancient  toper,  with  a  harp,  was  quavering: 

"My  mother  is  with  the  Hangels  now, 
She  is  waiting  for  me  there!" 

The  feet  of  the  servant  pounded  along  the 
passage.  The  clatter  from  the  kitchen  continued 
to  be  maddening.  A  lugubrious  church-clock 
droned  a  quarter  past  eight.  She  recognised  that 
there  were  nearly  two  hours  to  be  borne  before 
she  could  credibly  assert  that  she  was  tired. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SHE  went  to  bed  faint  with  the  fear  of  the 
morrow.  Like  e  shy  child  away  from  home  and 
yearning  to  be  "fetched" — like  a  prisoner  the 
first  time  that  a  sentence  of  years  knells  on  his 
consciousness — she  shrank  from  the  terrors  of  the 
life  before  her.  Of  course,  the  servants  were  ex- 
ceptionally bad  for  the  wages  that  they  were 
receiving;  of  course  it  is  not  usual  for  even  a 
second-class  servant  to  put  a  loaf  on  a  dinner- 
table;  and  of  course  that  first  full  day  was  the 
most  poignant  of  all.  But  if  her  husband  had 
not  been  dearer  to  her  than  the  man  with  whom 
she  fell  in  love,  she  would  have  broken  down 
before  a  week.  Not  for  a  single  week  could  she 
have  stood  the  strain.  Whatever  the  conse- 
quences, she  must  have  owned  herself  incapable. 

Besides,  if  he  really  understood  how  wretched 
she  was,  she  could  not  doubt  that  he  would  yield 
and  consent  to  her  father's  providing  for  them. 
It  was  not  the  dread  of  a  refusal  that  tied  her 
tongue,  nor  was  it  the  shame  of  confessing  her- 
self a  failure — it  was  her  reluctance  to  pain  him, 

118 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  119 

to  stab  him  by  admitting  that  all  his  efforts  for 
her  happiness  were  so  futile  that  she  could  not 
support  the  change  even  for  a  week.  She  felt 
that  it  would  be  a  cruel  thing  to  do. 

"If  he  really  understood!"  Sometimes  she 
wondered  if  she  could  have  made  him  under- 
stand, if  she  could  have  made  anybody  under- 
stand whom  usage  had  dulled  to  the  life's  unrest. 
He  and  others  would  say,  "Oh,  naturally  you 
don't  like  being  poor ;  you  miss  your  big  house, 
and  your  carriage,  and  your  French  cook!"  But 
it  wasn't  that  the  villa  was  little,  though  the 
walls'  nearness  to  one  another  pent  her  in  mo- 
ments; it  wasn't  that  she  walked  to  St.  John's 
Wood  Road  Station,  instead  of  having  carriages 
and  motor  cars  at  her  command;  it  wasn't  that 
her  food  was  cooked  by  an  incompetent  slattern, 
instead  of  by  a  famous  chef.  It  was  the  vulgar- 
ity pertaining  to  small  means  that  crushed  her. 
"What  about  the  kitchen  coal  'm?"  "The 
butcher  hasn't  called  for  orders  'm!"  "We're 
out  of  hale  'm,  and  the  shops  are  shut!"  There 
were  women  in  all  the  villas  of  the  street;  she 
saw  some  of  them  pass  the  window.  They  looked 
complacent,  and  she  envied  them.  Did  they 
realise  the  ceaseless  preparation  behind  their*  cur- 
tains? Did  they  know  that  a  house  where  one 
was  for  ever  arranging  never  became  a  home? 


120  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Within,  there  was  not,  during  the  day,  one 
hour  when  she  could  claim  peace  and  feel  safe 
against  intrusion.  There  was  not,  during  the 
day,  one  meal  when  the  sight  of  the  table  didn't 
jar  upon  her,  though  she  could  have  eaten  the 
cold  beef  with  contentment.  The  service,  and 
the  bathroom! — she  had  not  dreamed  till  now 
that  it  could  be  nauseous  to  bathe.  The  con- 
tinuous preparation  for  what  was  sickening  when 
it  came!  And  the  doors  that  banged,  banged, 
banged,  until  every  pulse  in  her  was  expectant 
of  the  next  slam ! 

Several  pressing  invitations  had  reached  them 
from  Clapham  Park,  and  once  they  had  paid  a 
duty  visit,  but  they  had  always  excused  them- 
selves from  dining  there.  Lady  Keith  had, 
moreover,  called  at  the  villa,  and  attempted 
gingerly  to  condole  with  Betty  on  "dear  Rich- 
ard's eccentricities."  The  girl  read  her  like  a 
tale  in  words  of  one  syllable,  and  the  lady  could 
only  gather,  to  her  consternation,  that  his  wife 
cordially  endorsed  his  views. 

Returning  good  for  evil,  she  introduced  the 
subject  of  housekeeping,  and  was  dismayed  to 
learn  that  nothing  here  was  locked  beyond  the 
servants'  maw.  What  an  establishment  from  A 
toZ! 

"Oh,  my  dear,  but  you  ought  to  have  every- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

thing  under  lock  and  key!"  she  sighed.  "My 
cook  comes  to  me  at  half-past  nine  every  morn- 
ing with  a  trayful  of  cups,  and  I  measure  out  just 
what  is  needed  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours — 
so  much  tea,  and  so  much  sugar,  and  so  much 
rice,  and  so  forth."  She  had  picked  up  "so  forth" 
from  the  knight.  "I  think  it  is  our  duty  to  keep 
temptation  out  of  our  servants'  way  and  dis- 
courage waste.  I  look  forward  to  my  tray!" 

"I'd  rather  be  dead,"  said  Betty  carelessly. 

It  was  a  shocking  sentiment — but  the  speaker 
might  have  revelled  in  millions!  There  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  from  her — even  if  Richard 
had  apostatised,  their  wealth  would  have  yielded 
not  a  sovereign  to  the  coffers  of  Clapham  Park; 
yet  the  mere  thought  of  the  millions  exalted  her 
to  a  pinnacle,  and  "Aunt  Emily"  had  only 
simpered  her  dissent. 

The  girl  had  not  written  to  her  father  of 
brother  since  her  marriage;  her  father's  cable- 
gram rankled  in  her  memory,  and  Howard  had 
not  shown  enough  interest  in  the  matter  to  wish 
her  happiness.  To  Mrs.  Waldehast,  however, 
she  had  written  gaily  hitherto;  now  she  found  it 
difficult  to  write,  though  as  a  rule  even  formal 
correspondence  was  no  effort  to  her.  There  had 
been  occasion  for  Keith  to  communicate  with 
the  landlord,  and  Betty,  the  butterfly,  had 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

suggested  phrases  that  sounded  as  businesslike 
as  if  they  had  come  out  of  East  India  Avenue. 
Her  letter  from  Sibella  Road  to  her  friend  was 
accomplished  only  after  she  had  wasted  a  good 
deal  of  the  new  stationery.  Her  first  attempts 
had  been  very  much  out  of  tune,  and  "I  am  per- 
fectly happy,"  added  as  an  improvement,  seemed 
only  to  call  attention  to  the  flatness  of  what  came 
before.  She  was  thankful  when  she  finished  at 
last ;  the  thought  of  the  mail  would  be  no  pleas- 
ure to  her  in  future,  nor  was  she  sorry  that  the 
Waldehasts'  intended  trip  to  Europe  had  been 
postponed. 

Though  she  was  at  pains  to  affect  good  spirits 
when  Keith  was  present,  he  was  distressfully 
conscious  of  a  change  in  her;  and  the  women 
whose  complacence  she  envied,  envied  the  woman 
whose  housemaid  "was  always  whistling  on  the 
doorstep  for  cabs  in  the  evening."  He  examined 
the  rooms,  trying  to  conjecture  what  deficiency 
must  mean  the  greatest  hardship  to  her.  Her 
toilet-service  looked  very*  meagre,  and  he  de- 
termined to  surprise  her  with  a  better  one.  He 
was  surprised  himself  to  learn  the  prices,  but 
paid  ten  pounds  for  little  silver  pots  and  bottles, 
delighted  with  his  inspiration. 

"You  won't  feel  such  a  pauper  when  you  go 
to  your  dressing-table  now!"  he  crowed  as  she 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  123 

unpacked  the  parcel.  The  toilet-service  that  she 
had  left  on  her  table  in  New  York  had  been  ac- 
quired in  the  rue  Drouot  for  seventy-five  thou- 
sand francs,  and  had  once  belonged  to  the  Em- 
press Josephine. 

"You  angel!  Aren't  they  sweet?  I  am  proud 
of  them!"  she  exclaimed.  But  she  felt  poorer 
than  before,  because  the  tenderness  of  his  error 
made  the  gift  pathetic  to  her. 

How  could  she  say  to  this  man,  "I  am  miser- 
able"? When  he  questioned  her,  she  vowed  that 
there  was  nothing  the  matter. 

For  a  long  while  he  had  had  elusive  visions  of 
a  picture  which  had  named  itself  in  his  mind, 
"The  Harbour  of  Souls."  He  saw  the  misty 
forms  of  frail  craft  floating  out  of  shadow  into 
the  whiteness  of  dawn.  Some  of  the  craft  had 
been  storm-tossed  on  the  way.  Age  and  youth 
were  among  the  vague  figures;  a  girl  had  sunk 
under  torn  sails,  but  her  gaze  was  cairn  now. 
Over  all  was  silence.  The  light,  the  still  water, 
the  faces,  all  meant  peace. 

The  mental  impression  attracted  him  power- 
fully, but  the  whole  scheme  remained  indefinite 
because  his  recent  expenses  had  reduced  his 
capital  so  much  that  he  feared  to  begin  the 
sketches  for  the  picture.  He  knew  very  well 
that,  if  he  did  so,  he  would  crave  to  work  on  it 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

exclusively,  and  he  could  not  afford  the  indul- 
gence. Instead,  he  worked  on  a  canvas  that  he 
had  blocked  in  roughly  in  America;  and  he  sold 
two  smaller  studies  that  he  had  brought  back; 
he  sold  them  to  Vivard,  the  dealer,  a  cad  in  the 
clothes  of  a  gentleman.  It  had  once  happened 
that  an  unfamiliar  artist,  intruding  into  the 
sanctity  of  Vivard's,  had  been  mistaken  for  a 
customer — and  the  artist  had  never  forgotten  his 
experience  of  Vivard's  two  manners. 

Betty  had  dimly  supposed  that  painters  sent 
nearly  all  their  pictures  in  cabs  to  the  Academy, 
or  that  Vivard,  or  Kluht,  or  one  of  those  people, 
came  to  the  studios  and  made  respectful  offers; 
to  see  Keith  prepare  to  go  forth  with  two  can- 
vases for  sale  under  his  arm  had  been  not  a  little 
startling.  But  here,  the  American  spirit  in  her 
made  her  dauntless;  she  was  no  snob.  While 
the  managing  clerk's  wife  across  the  way  sneered 
at  "such  a  common  business,"  the  multi-million- 
aire's daughter  went  to  the  gate  with  her  hus- 
band and  wished  him  luck. 

One  afternoon,  when  they  had  been  in  Sibella 
Road  between  two  and  three  weeks,  the  servant 
came  to  the  studio  to  tell  Keith  that  her  mistress 
was  not  at  home,  and  that  a  gentleman  was  ask- 
ing for  them. 

"What  name  did  he  give?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  125 

"He  told  me  to  say  it  was  Mrs.  Keith's  father, 
sir." 

Keith  started;  no  visitor  could  have  been  less 
welcome.  "Oh!"  he  said.  "All  right.  Is  he  in 
the  drawing-room?" 

"No,  sir;  I  left  'im  in  the  'all." 

"Well,  show  him  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
say  I'll  be  with  him  in  a  few  minutes." 

Lynch  settled  himself  on  the  six-pound  settee 
leisurely,  drawing  deductions.  On  the  whole, 
his  girl's  room  was  not  so  bad  as  he  had  dreaded, 
— the  aspect  of  the  street  had  foretokened  some- 
thing meaner, — but  it  was  piteous  and  impos- 
sible. He  rejoiced  that  he  had  come — she  might 
have  been  too  proud  to  own  her  mistake  for 
months.  As  to  this  husband  of  hers,  he  was 
doubtless  kicking  himself  for  his  heroics  by  now, 
even  assuming  that  they  were  more  than  a 
manoeuvre  at  the  start.  In  Betty's  interests, 
though,  one  must  affect  to  be  fooled  by  him.  It 
would  have  been  refreshing  to  hear  that  he  had 
met  with  an  accident  and  been  killed. 

Keith  came  in.  "Mr.  Lynch?  I  am  sorry  my 
wife  is  out."  He  did  not  offer  his  hand. 

"Well,  Mr.  Keith!  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  I 
have  neglected  some  business  to  do  so." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"Thank  you.    Is  Betty  well?" 


126  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Yes,  thanks.  I  expect  she'll  be  back  before 
very  long." 

They  regarded  each  other  curiously — the 
swindler  trying  to  see  into  the  mind  of  his  son- 
in-law;  his  son-in-law  loathing  the  necessity  for 
receiving  the  swindler  with  politeness. 

"Mr.  Keith,  you  and  I  have  got  to  have  quite 
a  chat ;  I  guess  we  have  got  to  arrive  at  a  friendly 
understanding." 

"Do  you  think  it's  essential  for  us  to  introduce 
any  painful  subject?"  asked  Keith  nervously. 

"I  shall  make  a  blunt  answer  to  that:  if 
Betty  was  not  married  to  you,  it  would  not  con- 
cern me  to -correct  your  prejudices.  But  my 
daughter  cannot  continue  to  be  dependent  on  her 
husband's  professional  earnings — we  are  not 
playing  opera-bouife.  I  have  too  much  affection 
for  my  child  to  let  her  suffer  rather  than  put 
myself  in  a  humiliating  position.  I  will  only 
ask  you  to  make  it  as  little  humiliating  to  me  as 
your  views  permit — I  am  an  old  man,  and  a 
more  sensitive  one  than  I  allow  my  enemies  to 
believe." 

Involuntarily  Keith  liked  him  better.  "My 
own  wish  would  be  to  avoid  the  position  alto- 
gether," he  said  gently. 

"I  appreciate  your  meaning.  But  my  girl  is 
dear  to  you  too;  for  her  sake  you  will  see  that 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  127 

it  is  our  duty  not  to  spare  ourselves.  You  have 
a  very  remarkable  character,  Mr.  Keith;  I  have 
the  very  highest  admiration  for  your  principles; 
but — I  shall  be  candid — I  have  no  admiration 
for  your  financial  judgment.  You  have  shown 
me  that  it  is  too  impulsive." 

"How?" 

"By  forming  a  decision  before  you  had  an  op- 
portunity to  investigate  the  system  that  you 
have  condemned.  You  let  yourself  be  carried 
away  by  the  side  that  shouted,  and  you  forgot 
that  it  might  be  the  silent  side  that  was  right. 
Xow  I  am  going  to  say  to  you  what  it  don't  in- 
terest me  to  say  to  any  other  of  my  critics:  my 
enterprises  are  open  to  your  inspection,  Mr. 
Keith — ask  me  any  questions  you  please,  and  I 
will  answer  them." 

"You  pay  me  a  great  compliment,"  said 
Keith  drily,  "but,  as  you  may  be  aware,  I  am 
not  qualified  to  examine  you  on  financial  mat- 
ters, even  if  I  wished  to  do  it." 

"Should  not  examination  precede  the  ver- 
dict?" 

"Mr.  Lynch,  the  examination  has  been  made 
by  experts,  and  the  verdict  returned  by  the 
world." 

The  heroics  were  genuine,  the  man  meant  it! 
If  Betty  had  only  stood  firm !  But  she  had  given 


128  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

him  full  swing,  so  he  had  to  be  conciliated. 
There  was  hatred  in  Lynch's  heart,  and  good- 
humour  in  his  smile. 

"Has  experience  in  your  own  line  convinced 
you  that  the  world's  verdict  is  always  sound? 
I  guess  I  have  heard  of  great  artists  much  mis- 
apprehended by  the  world?" 

Keith  found  no  reply. 

"Come,  Mr.  Keith,  I  want  you  to  see  it  my 
way!  Put  these  difficulties  of  yours  before  me, 
and  I  will  meet  them  squarely — and  not  entirely 
for  Betty's  sake  now;  I  like  your  grit.  You 
haven't  cool  brains,  but  you  have  something 
more  wonderful ;  I  should  be  proud  to  shake  your 
hand  before  I  go,  and  you  have  got  to  do  me 
justice  before  that  can  happen.  See  here, 
Betty's  husband  has  got  to  be  right  on  top!  I 
hear  you  are  a  genius — and  everybody  has  got 
to  recognise  it.  I  don't  know  much  about  your 
profession,  but  I  know  something  about  life.  I 
presume  that  the  artist  who  can  take  a  big  house 
and  entertain  big  people  will  get  there  consider- 
ably sooner  than  the  artist  who  has  no  dollars  to 
speak  for  him.  I  aim  at  seeing  you  President 
of  the  Royal  Academy.  What  is  there  between 
us?  There  always  have  been,  and  there  always 
must  be,  a  few  very  rich  men;  and  there  always 
have  been,  and  there  always  must  be,  many  more 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  129 

very  poor  ones.  To  abuse  a  millionaire  because 
there  are  bankrupts  on  the  earth  is  as  unreason- 
able as  to  sling  mud  at  Niagara  because  there 
are  droughts." 

"Nobody  but  an  anarchist,  or  some  other  sort 
of  lunatic,  would  abuse  a  man  merely  for  being 
a  millionaire,  or  a  multi-millionaire.  One  reviles 
methods,  not  millions." 

"Well,  let  us  get  down  to  business!  Between 
you  and  I  there  can  be  a  perfect  frankness. 
What  are  the  methods  that  are  worrying  you?" 

"I'd  rather  not  go  into  details — to  Betty's 
father,  and  in  my  own  house." 

"It's  just  strait-laced  square  dealing  that  you 
quit  talking  generalities  and  specify  your  ob- 
jections." 

"Well,  then,  I  object  to  a  fortune  amassed  by 
refusing  poorer  men  the  power  to  live.  I  find 
the  methods  of  such  a  Trust  as  yours,  sir,  as 
devoid  of  Christianity,  and  patriotism,  and 
sympathy  as  the  methods  of  the  primeval  ages, 
when  Might  was  Right.  And  I  object  to  a 
fortune  amassed  by  plunder,  by  wholesale 
trickery,  and  perjury,  and  corruption;  by 
bribing  a  Press  to  spread  lies  broadcast  for  the 
snare  of  the  life-earnings  of  thousands,  and  the 
inquitous  enrichment  of  a  few  millionaires  who 
have  already  more  millions  than  they  can  spend 


130  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

— lies  of  enormous  finds  in  mines  that  are  worth- 
less, and  of  enormous  profits  from  shares  that 
are  being  given  a  fictitious  value  by  bogus  trans- 
actions. I  object  to  a  fortune  that  creates  de- 
faulters, and  suicides,  and  prostitutes — and  I  ob- 
ject to  my  wife  battening  on  them!" 

He  had  said  it,  although  his  voice  had  shaken 
and  his  pulses  had  thumped;  and  though  he  was 
too  unnerved  now  to  look  at  Lynch,  he  was  glad 
that  it  was  said.  Behind  Lynch's  impassive 
features  fury  was  blazing;  and  behind  the  fury 
was  one  poignant,  pure  regret :  "That's  how  he 
speaks  of  me  to  my  girl!" 

It  was  not  a  moment  when  he  could  afford 
fury — the  moment  demanded  prompt,  grave, 
and  whole-hearted  lying. 

"You  would  be  quite  right  to  object,"  he  said 
smoothly.  "So  would  any  honest  man!  But 
why  accept  this  poppycock  without  investigation? 
You  repeat  the  charge  that  I  bribe  a  section^of 
the  Press  to  spread  lies  for  the  snare  of  in- 
vestors. Mr.  Keith,  that  charge  is  itself  a  lie 
which  a  section  of  the  Press  was  bribed  to  spread. 
It  was  the  other  side  of  the  game!"  He  smiled 
wistfully.  Richard,  meeting  his  gaze,  confused, 
found  it  deep  with  reproachful  sorrow.  If  a 
stranger  had  entered  the  room,  he  would  have 
taken  the  accuser  for  a  culprit,  and  the  scoundrel 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  131 

for  a  benefactor  whose  confidence  had  been  be- 
trayed. "Might  is  not  necessarily  Right?  No, 
sir.  But  do  not  imagine  that  Noise  is  necessarily 
Truth.  A  man  cannot  make  millions  without 
making  enemies  too.  I  do  not  say  I  am  a  philan- 
thropist, I  shall  not  pretend  to  you  for  a  single 
instant  that  my  notions  are  as  lofty  as  all  your 
own — the  world  has  been  too  rough  on  me  for 
me  to  have  a  wholesale  tenderness  for  the  world. 
You  have  spoken  of  'patriotism.'  W-e-11,  I  am 
a  naturalised  American  citizen;  but  I  was  born 
in  this  wet  little  island,  and  as  a  poor  boy  I  found 
England  no  more  interesed  in  my  miseries  than 
I  afterwards  found  America.  When  I  went 
without  shoes,  the  stones  of  Lancashire  were  no 
gentler  to  my  feet  because  I  trod  my  native  land. 
When  I  had  empty  pockets,  the  British  store- 
keepers were  no  more  benevolent  than  the  aliens. 
If  I  had  died  of  starvation  on  the  street,  my 
death  would  have  caused  no  more  concern  to 
England  than  to  any  other  country.  I  do  not 
know  what  'patriotism'  means;  I  do  not  allow 
that  any  callous  parent  is  entitled  to  affection. 
Tenderness  deserves  tenderness,  but  I  cannot 
understand  why  an  outcast  should  feel  more 
sentimental  about  the  soil  of  the  land  he  was 
born  in  than  about  the  planks  o^  the  ship  if  he 
was  born  in  mid-ocean.  You  have  spoken  of 


132  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

'sympathy.'  I  have  seen  no  results  from  it.  If 
you  expect  advancement  from  sympathy,  I  warn 
you  that  you  are  putting  ypur  hopes  into  rotten 
stock.  Sympathy  is  the  emotion  that  accom- 
plishes nothing.  Ambition,  love,  hate,  jealousy, 
greed,  they  all  hustle,  and  make  history;  sym- 
pathy loafs,  and  makes  phrases.  It  is  the  weak- 
ling of  the  emotional  group.  I  say  these  things 
because  I  wish  to  be  sincere  with  you;  I  do  not 
propose  to  claim  any  virtues  that  I  do  not 
possess.  But,  Mr.  Keith,  I  do  claim,  and  I  have 
the  right  to  claim,  that  throughout  my  career  I 
have  never  committed  a  dishonourable  act,  never 
wronged  man,  woman  or  child.  I  will  illustrate ; 
I  will  show  you  what  I  mean  by  the  'other  side 
of  the  game.'  You  shall  see  how  a  man  who 
has  treated  his  friends  and  his  business  associates 
with  the  utmost  generosity  may  be  attacked  by 
some  of  the  men  who  he  has  served  most,  and 
how  these  very  indictments,  that  arouse  indigna- 
tion against  him,  are  hatched  simply  to  divert  the 
public's  dollars  into  schemes  more  lucrative  to 
the  organisers." 

With  a  patience  that  was  marvellous  he  led 
Keith,  step  by  step,  through  transactions  of 
magnitude — translating,  descanting,  yet  talking 
with  so  much  tact  that  he  instructed  a  novice 
with  the  air  of  confiding  to  a  mind  as  astute  as 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  133 

his  own.  "Till  you  can  crush  your  opponent, 
natter  him!"  had  been  one  of  the  maxims  of  his 
life.  He  had  matched  his  wits  against  some  of 
the  keenest  financial  intellects  of  the  world,  and 
emerged  triumphant;  but,  in  its  way,  as  clever 
a  thing  as  he  had  ever  done  was  the  task  of  the 
next  hour,  while,  without  a  trace  of  weariness,  he 
reduced  the  intricacies  of  Wall  Street  operations 
to  terms  intelligible  to  a  schoolboy,  and  simul- 
taneously invented  conspiracies  and  figures  to 
prove  his  falsehoods. 

And  at  the  end,  Keith  looked  him  in  the  eyes 
and  said,  "My  wife  does  not  touch  a  shilling  of 
such  money,  as  God  hears !" 

The  average  man's  self-control  would  have 
snapped.  Lynch  desired  a  conversation  with 
Betty  before  she  had  been  prepared  for  it;  to 
take  offence  would  mean  to  take  leave  and  give 
her  husband  an  opportunity  to  coach  her.  He 
indulged  in  the  faintest  shrug. 

"We  are  told,  'The  truth  is  mighty,  and  will 
prevail,'  "  he  said  pleasantly,  "but  there  is  no 
clause  re  time-limit.  I  will  illustrate  further." 

Only  when  she  had  come  in  and  they  were  left 
together  did  he  permit  himself  the  luxury  of 
vehemence.  He  read  her  mind  in  her  first 
evasion,  and  wrath  and  protest  poured  from  him 
as  he  paced  the  room.  But  she  would  not 


134  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

acknowledge  that  she  was  dissatisfied.  She  spoke 
of  Keith's  devotion.  She  gave  instances  of  his 
tenderness.  She  boasted  that  she  had  never 
known  what  it  meant  to  ask  him  for  money,  or  to 
have  an  empty  purse.  And  at  the  back  of  her 
brain  all  the  while  was  the  longing  for  him  to 
yield,  the  regret  at  hearing  that  he  had  been 
firm. 

"Betty,"  said  Lynch,  "I  have  been  proud  of 
you — don't  make  me  think  you  a  fool,  honey. 
I've  got  a  fool  for  a  son — leave  me  my  daughter ! 
Have  I  been  so  harsh  to  you  that  you  should 
punish  me  this  way?  Can't  you  feel  what  it'll 
mean  to  me  to  leave  you  in  a  house  like  this?  I 
can't  stand  it.  I  guess  a  father  has  got  rights 
too.  I  loved  you  when  you  were  a  baby,  I've 
been  tender  to  you  all  your  life;  what  has  this 
man  done,  who  comes  around  when  you're  a 
woman,  to  wipe  me  out  in  your  affections  ?  You 
ain't  fair  with  me.  I  can't  do  anything  if  you're 
dogged — it's  waste  of  time  my  making  a  settle- 
ment if  you  won't  spend  the  money.  It's  right 
here  that  you  have  got  to  put  this  thing  through ! 
Handle  it  while  his  love's  fresh.  See  here, 
women  kick  up  a  rumpus  about  men  having  too 
much  power,  but  I  tell  you  this,  with  a  lifetime 
of  experience  behind  me — there's  no  power  on 
earth  like  a  pretty  woman's.  Only  she's  like  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  135 

horse — she  don't  know  her  own  strength,  or  no 
man  could  boss  her.  What  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  tell  him  that  it  don't  suit  you  to  play  at  being 
crazy  any  longer.  The  bigger  his  love,  the  safer 
your  position!  He'll  climb  down." 

"I  promised  him,"  she  reiterated,  "I  promised 
him  before  we  were  married.  Please  don't  say 
any  more.  It's  no  good.  I  can't  do  it." 

"W-e-11,  I  am  beaten!  I  came  for  nothing. 
I  guess  I'll  go  back  by  the  next  boat.  Shall  I 
see  you  again?  Will  you  come  and  stay  with  me 
till  I  sail?" 

"I'll  come,  of  course,  but  I  won't  stay." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  think  we  understand  all  each  other's  rea- 
sons, poppa,"  said  Betty,  smiling  crookedly.  "If 
I  went  to  stay  with  you,  it  wouldn't  make  this 
look  much  better  to  me  afterwards,  eh?" 

His  purpose  was  detected — but  it  was  his  own 
daughter  who  had  seen  through  him;  Lynch 
sighed — but  patted  her  hand  with  approval. 


CHAPTER  X 

No,  she  wouldn't  stay  at  the  hotel,  but  the 
waiters  and  the  table  appointments  were  not 
without  an  influence  when  she  lunched  or  dined 
there;  nor  was  Lynch  the  person  to  accept  de- 
feat so  easily  as  he  had  pretended. 

He  harped  no  more  on  his  own  feelings,  nor 
on  her  privations;  he  questioned  her  about 
Keith's  work:  and  she  had  never  liked  her  father 
so  well  as  while  he  listened  to  her  rhapsodies, 
with  an  assumption  of  growing  interest,  and 
made  generous  remarks  about  the  man  who,  she 
gathered,  had  abused  him.  "The  Harbour  of 
Souls,"  she  declared,  would  be  a  great  picture 
one  day — by  far  the  most  important  thing  that 
Richard  had  ever  done — but  the  day  was  distant ; 
naturally,  he  had  other  things  to  do  in  the  mean- 
time. It  was  to  this  that  Lynch  hkd  been  guid- 
ing her.  Wealth,  he  exclaimed,  would  have  ab- 
solved her  husband  from  the  need  for  doing  the 
"other  things" — wealth  would  have  given  his 
genius  full  play.  As  it  was — well,  of  course, 
marriage  was  bound  to  handicap  him;  he  could 

136 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  137 

not  hope  to  be  famous  so  young  as  if  he  hadn't 
a  wife  to  support !  Even  the  luncheons  and  din- 
ners provided  opportunities,  though  they  fell 
short  of  the  temptations  projected. 

Betty  was  much  too  acute  to  miss  the  motive 
for  such  regrets — she  realised,  directly  they  were 
uttered,  that  she  had  been  adroitly  led  to  a  de- 
sired cue — but,  for  all  that,  there  was  sufficient 
truth  in  the  words  for  them  to  stick. 

Though  Keith  did  his  best  to  disguise  aversion, 
the  sight  of  her  going  forth  to  visit  her  father 
every  day  was  far  from  being  pleasant.  He  was 
infinitely  relieved  one  evening,  when  she  had 
come  back,  to  hear  that  the  date  for  Lynch's 
departure  was  fixed. 

"I  suppose  you're  not  sorry  to  hear  it?"  she 
said.  There  was  a  new  umbrage  in  her  tone. 

"Have  I  made  any  complaint  about  your  go- 
ing?" he  returned,  startled. 

"I  haven't  noticed  much  enthusiasm." 

"You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  be  'enthusias- 
tic.' I  shouldn't  be  enthusiastic  about  your  be- 
ing out  all  day,  wherever  you  went." 

She  drummed  her  fingers  on  the  mantelshelf: 
"If  my  father  came  here,  I  shouldn't  have  to  go 
to  him  so  often." 

"The  house  is  open  to  him,  Betty." 

"Well,  I  should  hope  so! — if  he  chose  to  come 


138  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

to  it  after  the  way  you  received  him,"  she  said. 

It  was  the  first  hint  of  dissension.  He  took 
a  turn  about  the  room — and  put  an  arm  round 
her. 

"I've  been  afraid  of  this — don't  let  it  hap- 
pen!" 

Her  figure  was  not  responsive. 

"I  told  you  the  same  night  that  I  was  sorry 
I  had  said  so  much.  But  it  had  to  be  then,  or 
not  at  all." 

"It  might  have  been  'not  at  all.' ' 

"It  isn't  easy  to  refuse  to  let  a  man  do  things 
for  his  own  child  and  to  hold  back  your  reason 
for  it.  You  told  me  you  understood?"  His 
caress  tightened.  "You  aren't  going  to  be  angry 
with  me?" 

She  uttered  a  little  choky  cry  and  clutched  at 
him.  "We  might  have  been  so  comfortable!" 
she  quavered. 

His  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  He  had  failed, 
then!  The  drawing-room  that  he  had  thought 
rather  luxurious  looked  pathetically  stupid 
across  her  shoulder.  There  was  a  long  pause. 

She  wished  he  would  speak.  She  wished  she 
hadn't  said  it.  "Oh,  Dick!" 

"I  didn't  know,"  said  Keith  drearily.      "I- 
yes,  I've  wondered." 

"It's  nothing.     I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you;  I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  139 

meant  to  tell  you  about  something  quite  differ- 
ent! But—  Oh,  you  think  me  such  a  sneak, 
don't  you,  after  I  promised?" 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  always.  Has 
it — have  you  been  uncomfortable  long?" 

"It's  so  hard!" 

"I  mean,  is  it  only  since  he  came  over?  I  don't 
want  to  deceive  myself,  but  has  it  been  so  hard 
all  the  time?" 

"Not  at  first — I  mean,  not  till  we  were  here. 
Don't  think  that,  oh  no!" 

"It's  this,  the  house?  You — oh,  don't  tremble, 
don't  be  afraid!  Whom  should  you  speak  to,  if 
not  me?  aren't  we  one?  Why,  I  want  to  hear 
your  troubles ;  it  brings  me  closer  to  you  to  hear 
your  troubles  than  your  pleasures.  Tell  me 
everything,  just  as  if  you  were  thinking  aloud." 

"It's  because  I'm  a  fool.  I  don't  know  how  to 
manage — and  the  servants  see  it.  They're  aw- 
ful. They  make  it  worse  for  me.  I  think  of 
them  when  I  wake  up,  the  first  thing.  Dick, 
they're  spoiling  our  home  to  me!  I'm  afraid  of 
them." 

He  strangled  an  oath.  "Afraid  of  them?  I'll 
pitch  them  out  of  the  house  neck  and  crop  to- 
morrow morning!  I'd  send  them  off  to-night  if 
it  weren't  too  late.  Why  didn't  you  say  so?  why 


140  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

.didn't  you  come  to  me  about  it?    My  poor  little 
girl!"  * 

"The  new  ones'd  be  just  the  same.  I  daresay 
they  don't  mean  any  harm — it's  my  own  fault; 
I  don't  understand."  She  clung  to  him  tearfully. 
"Dickie,  duckie,  you  know  I  loathe  going  back 
on  what  I  said,  but  don't  you  think  we  might  let 
poppa  do  a  little  for  us — just  a  little?  I  don't 
ask  you  to  take  much — I  know  you'd  feel  too 
bad  about  it — but  if  we  had  just  a  few  thousand 
pounds  a  year,  it'd  make  everything  so  different. 
It  would  all  be  lovely  then!  It  isn't  only  me — 
there's  you  too;  you'd  get  on  so  much  faster. 
You  could  start  on  your  picture  right  away.  If 
we  go  on  like  this,  I  know  very  well  that  by-and- 
by  you'll  be  sorry  you  cared  for  me.  You  can't 
succeed  so  soon  as  if  you  weren't  married.  I 
want  to  be  of  use  to  you,  I  want  to  be  a  chum; 
I  can't  be  a  chum  if  I'm  a  burden,  and  it  makes 
me  feel  miserable,  knowing  I  could  do  so  much 
if  you'd  only  let  me.  It  humiliates  me  to  think 
I'm  a  drawback  to  my  husband — I  never  thought 
I'd  be  that!  Poppa  likes  you;  he  admires  you 
for  your  pluck  in  standing  up  to  him,  though  he 
says  your  ideas  about  it  are  quite  wrong.  If 
you'd  only  say  'Yes,'  I  could  tell  him  in  the 
morning,  and  he  could  fix  it  up  before  he  goes. 
Think  what  it  would  be!  All  of  a  sudden!  In 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  141 

five  minutes  all  the  horrors  would  be  over — all 
our  life  would  be  just  as  beautiful  as  our  honey- 
moon! Just  a  little,  Dickie — what  is  it  out  of 
all  the  millions?  Couldn't  we  take  just  enough 
to  make  things  smooth?" 

It  was  one  of  the  moments  when  man  strives, 
speechless  and  voiceless,  for  words  to  utter  his 
very  soul.  What  could  he  answer  that  would 
make  him  seem  less  than  brutal  to  her  ? 

"I'd  do  anything  else  on  earth  for  you,"  he 
stammered — and  execrated  his  own  triteness. 

To  her  the  blow  was  as  heavy  as  to  him.  He 
wasn't  going  to  yield!  She  had  not  realised  till 
now  how  it  had  supported  her  to  believe  that  the 
remedy  was  within  her  reach ;  she  had  not  meant 
to  take  it,  she  had  only  glanced  at  it  sometimes 
for  encouragement.  All  at  once  it  had  vanished 
—the  future  was  bare.  It  was  to  go  on  like 
this  for  years  and  years!  What  he  was  saying 
came  to  her  muffled. 

"Don't  you  see  that  it  doesn't  matter  whether 
we  take  much  or  little?"  he  pleaded  wretchedly. 
"It's  not  the  amount  that  makes  it  right  or 
wrong;  if  it  were  right  of  me  to  say  'Yes'  to  a 
little,  it  would  be  wrong  of  me  to  draw  the  line 
at  all.  Oh,  Betty  darling,  you  know  the  broken 
lives  behind  this  money!  You  know  what  I  say 
about  it  is  true — you've  told  me  that  you  know-? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

For  God's  sake,  don't  ask  me  to  hold  you  at  a 
price  like  that! — it  would  degrade  us,  it  would 
poison  our  love.  Our  marriage  will  never  be  a 
drawback  to  me  if  we  play  the  game  honestly 
—you  will  be  a  help,  you  will  be  a  chum,  just  as 
you  want  to  be.  It's  not  you  who've  been  a  fool, 
it's  I — I  ought  to  be  kicked  for  giving  you  house- 
keeping to  do.  I  ought  to  have  remembered.  I 
hate  myself  for  being  such  a  blockhead !" 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  she  said  dismally. 

"That's  the  only  thing,  isn't  it?  You  say  you 
were  happy  before?  If  it  weren't  for  that,  you 
wouldn't  mind?" 

She  shook  her  head.     • 

"Well,  we'll  give  the  house  up!  We'll  take  a 
flat  where  there's  a  restaurant  downstairs.  We 
ought  to  have  done  it  at  the  beginning." 

"As  if  I'd  let  you  be  so  crazy,  when  we've  only 
just  come  in!" 

"It  doesn't  matter  when  we  came  in,  I'm  not 
going  to  have  you  made  miserable  if  I  can  help 
it.  Oh,  kiddy,  don't  think  me  cruel  to  you.  I 
know  it  sounds  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world 
to  say  I'd  do  anything  excepting  what  you  ask, 
but  I  can't  do  that — I  can't,  I  can't!  I'll  take 
you  out  of  the  house  to-morrow;  you  shan't 
spend  another  day  in  it.  We'll  go  to  an  hotel 
till  we've  found  what  we  want — and  we'll  go  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

a  nice  one.  Curse  the  servants!  When  I  think 
what  you've  been  going  through  while  I  was 
imagining  I  had  done  all  I  could  to  make  you 

happy,  I 'Afraid  of  them'!"  Pain  and  rage 

mastered  him.  He  flung  to  the  electric  button, 
and  was  sorry  that  it  wasn't  a  bell-handle  that 
he  could  wrench. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  give  them  notice!" 

"They  can't  go  now." 

"I  can  give  them  notice  now,  though!  What 
do  you  suppose  I'm  made  of?  Do  you  suppose 
I'm  made  of  bricks-and-mortar,  that  I  can  bear 
to  see  you  cry  and  have  to  look  like  a  tyrant, 
and  know  that  it  all  comes  from  those ?" 

"Dick!"  she  said  urgently,  "Dick,  don't! 
They've  never  been  rude,  never.  Please!  Don't 
make  a  fuss  to-night!" 

He  sat  down,  trembling. 

The  housemaid  opened  the  door:  "Yes'm?" 

"You've  forgotten  the  syphon,"  said  Betty. 

"It's  on  the  little  table  'm." 

"Oh,  is  it?    I  didn't  notice.    Very  well." 

She  had  no  passion  for  money  as  the  senten- 
tious knight,  and  his  wife,  who  doled  out  the 
sugar,  had  a  passion  for  it;  she  did  not  worship 
money  for  money's  sake.  Measured  by  the  pro- 
fusion that  she  had  been  taught  to  take  for 


144  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

granted,  her  requirements  had,  indeed,  been  re- 
duced to  the  point  of  heroism — she  asked  only 
for  peace.  The  prospect  of  being  relieved  from 
the  housekeeping  had  lightened  her  mood  almost 
as  much  as  if  he  had  consented  to  her  appeal. 
Laughter  quivered  in  her  voice  now,  though  it 
was  more  than  a  shade  hysterical. 

"She  little  knows  what  I've  saved  her  from!" 

Keith  could  not  laugh  yet. 

She  knelt  on  a  pouf  beside  him:  "You'll  make 
me  sorry  I  told  you." 

"You  aren't  to  say  that!  I'm  thankful — I've 
never  been  more  thankful  for  anything  in  my 
life.  It  isn't  your  telling  me  that  upsets  me,  it's 
my  own  idiocy  in  needing  to  be  told.  You  don't 
know  how  bitter  it  is  to  a  man,  when  he  loves  a 
woman,  to  hear  she  has  had  a  big  trouble  that  he 
didn't  see.  Well,  I'll  try  to  make  up  to  you  for 
it!  You  won't  have  to  think  of  the  servants 
when  you  wake  to-morrow,  kiddy." 

"You  really  mean  it?  I  feel  awful  selfish.  I 
do,  I  feel  a  monster!" 

"Where's  your  face,  monster?  Don't  keep  it 
such  a  long  way  off." 

"A  flat  will  cost  ever  so  much  more,  you  know 
it  will,"  she  purred,  nestling  to  him.  "With  a 
restaurant  downstairs,  it'll  be  perfectly  ruinous 
to  you.  And  where  will  you  work?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  145 

"I'll  work  in  my  old  studio — it's  lucky  I've 
still  got  it." 

"That'll  be  two  rents,  then.  Besides  this  one! 
We  won't  be  able  to  get  rid  of  it  in  a  hurry,  you 
may  be  sure.  And  think  of  the  money  it  has  cost 
— look  at  the  windows,  and  the  wall-papers.  Oh, 
it's  wicked!"  She  sprang  up  resolutely.  "No, 
we  can't  do  it.  I  mean  it.  I  won't  do  it!"  She 
was  quite  sincere,  she  didn't  mean  to  do  it. 

"Of  course  the  wall-papers  must  be  considered 
before  you,"  said  Keith;  "what  else  are  wall- 
papers made  for?  Do  you  mind  bringing  that 
cheek  back — I'm  taking  a  chill.  ...  Do  you 
know — is  that  right,  are  you  comfortable? — do 
you  know,  I'm  not  sorry  to  get  out  of  this!  I'm 
not,  upon  my  word!"  he  went  on,  with  rising 
spirits.  "There's  something  rather  depressing 
about  it,  I  think — perhaps  it's  a  gravel  soil." 

"What  does  that  do?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I  know  it  isn't 
right.  Or  perhaps  it's  a  clay  soil  that  isn't  right 
— I  know  when  people  take  a  house  there's  some 
sort  of  soil  they  don't  want.  A  flat  will  be  ever 
so  much  cosier — much  better  for  me,  too.  I  hate 
the  tradesmen  banging  at  the  side  door  all  the 
morning;  and  the  woman  opposite  is  such  an 
object." 

"She  doesn't  interfere  with  us,  does  she?" 


146  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"I  don't  like  her  profile ;  it  infuriates  me.  I'm 
glad  we're  going,  for  lots  of  reasons." 

"I'd  sing  for  joy,  if  I  didn't  feel  so  mean. 
Lucky  thing  for  you  I  feel  mean !" 

"If  you  talk  any  more  nonsense  about  feeling 
'mean,'  I'll  shake  you.  Are  you  going  to  be 
good?" 

"Mmps." 

"Well,  then,  let's  decide  everything.  Now  I 

come  to  think  of  it Why  do  you  always  push 

my  hair  backwards?" 

"I  d'n'  know — I  like  it.  Don't  be  so  vain! 
Well?  Now  you  come  to  think  of  it?" 

"Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  believe  flats  of 
that  kind  are  always  let  furnished.  I'm  not  sure 
if  you  can  get  an  unfurnished  flat  with  cater- 
ing." 

"What's  to  become  of  our  furniture,  then?" 

"We  might  give  it  to  the  servants,  as  a  token 
of  appreciation." 

"No,  but  really?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  we'd  better  sell  it.  Tread 
on  the  carpet  lightly  and  keep  it  new!  By  Jove, 
an  auction  '11  put  us  in  funds  again — we'll  go 
out  to  dinner  on  the  strength  of  it!" 

"We  might  find  an  unfurnished  flat,  mightn't 
we?"  said  Betty. 

"We  might."     He  pondered.     "But  there'd 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  147 

be  no  use  for  the  stair-carpets,  anyhow.  Nor  the 
rods." 

"No."  She  also  reflected.  "And  the  Bat 
wouldn't  be  as  big  as  the  house — we  couldn't  get 
all  the  things  into  it." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  Well,  it's  all  the 
more  reason  why  we  should  sell  them — it's  no 
good  storing  them  for  years.  Besides,  when  we 
take  a  house  again,  they'd  be  lost  in  it." 

"Buckingham  Palace?" 

"No,  it's  too  near  the  railway  line — we'll  want 
something  select.  We'll  do  it  properly  next  time 
— servants  that  know  their  business.  I  hope  the 
flat  won't  be  too  poky,  though!" 

"It  can  be  as  poky  as  it  likes,  we  don't  want 
to  play  hide-and-seek.  It  doesn't  matter  how 
small  it  is,  if  you  have  your  studio  outside.  All 
we  need  is—  -  It  oughtn't  to  cost  so  much  more, 
after  all,  ought  it?" 

"I  should  think  we  could  go  West  for  about 
the  same  rent.  If  we  only  need  a  drawing-room 
and  a  bedroom " 

"It — it'll  have  to  be  more  than  that,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"We  shall  take  our  meals  in  the  restaurant, 
you  know." 

"Still  we'll  want  a  third  room " 


148  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"For  our  luggage?" 

"No."  She  slipped  a  little  closer,  and  her  eyes 
were  hidden  from  him.  "We'll  want  a  third 
room,  Dickie — for  someone  else  by-and-by." 


CHAPTER  XI 

REALISING  the  vision  in  the  cardboard  house, 
the  morning  sun  shone  on  her  face  between  the 
draperies  when  she  woke,  but  Keith  was  too  busy 
packing  to  appreciate  that  gleam  of  irony. 

"If  we  make  haste,  we  can  be  out  of  the  place 
and  comfortably  settled  at  the  hotel  before 
luncheon,"  he  explained. 

She  contemplated  the  confusion  with  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  Among  her  charms  was  the  one 
that  no  beauty  specialist  undertakes  to  restore 
with  a  "remarkable  preparation" — the  charm  of 
waking  up  lovely. 

"It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  raining  shirts,"  she 
pouted. 

"You  should  have  seen  it  five  minutes  ago!" 

"Do  you  think  we  ought  to  rush  it  so,  really? 
Don't  you  think  if  we  went  to-morrow  in- 
stead- 

"I'll  help  you  with  your  things;  that's  why 
I  wanted  to  get  mine  done  early.  I  hope  I  didn't 
make  a  noise  ?  No,  I  don't  want  you  to  have  an- 
other day  here ;  I  want  to  whisk  you  right  out  of 

149 


150  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

it.  Let's  make  a  dash  and  get  it  over!  I'll  go 
round  to  the  agent's  directly  after  breakfast." 

"Hark  at  my  American  husband!  All  right, 
we  needn't  take  a  heap — we  can  come  back  and 
finish  ?" 

"I  can.  You  take  all  your  clothes  now;  you 
don't  cross  the  door-mat  again !"  He  returned  to 
the  litter,  and  wrestled  with  a  portmanteau  that 
wouldn't  fasten.  "Do  you  know,  I've  been 
thinking  we  had  better  let  the  servants  stop,  after 
all;  if  we  leave  the  house  empty,  we'll  have  a 
burglary,  and  we  aren't  insured.  I  can  give 
them  notice,  just  the  same,  and  tell  them  why!" 

"If  you  give  them  notice,  it's  likely  to  be 
empty  anyhow  sometimes — they'll  do  as  they 
please,  with  us  away." 

"That's  true." 

"I  think  it'd  be  best  to  part  amiably  with  them, 
and  let  them  imagine  we're  going  for  a  few  days ; 
if  they  don't  know  when  to  expect  us  back,  they'll 
have  to  be  careful." 

"Upon  my  word,  they're  triumphant  to  the 
last!"  He  threw  the  portmanteau  viciously. 
"They're  driving  us  out,  and  we've  got  to  grin 
at  them  when  we  go.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you 
know,  I  suppose  there  are  things  to  be  done  in 
such  cases,  but  it's  a  mystery  how  people  learn 
them;  there  ought  to  be  a  book  published  on  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  151 

subject,  'First  Steps  to  Getting  Even  with  your 
Servants.'  .  .  .  It's  these  boots  that  prevent  my 
shutting  it!  It's  a  marvellous  thing,  I  haven't 
got  any  clothes,  and  two  trunks  aren't  big 
enough  to  hold  them.  Very  well,  just  as  you 
like.  We'll  take  it  smiling,  and " 

"Battle  with  the  baggage  bravely!"  she  said. 
"Fix  your  gaze  on  the  hotel,  weary  one — it'll  be 
very  restful  and  expensive." 

It  was  a  long  while  before  the  moment  was 
reached,  but  when  the  last  strap  had  been 
buckled,  and  the  last  "mate"  had  mopped  his 
brow  after  lifting  a  bonnet-box,  they  recovered 
something  of  the  honeymoon  spirit,  as  they  were 
rattled  towards  Kensington  in  a  decrepit  four- 
wheeler.  And  the  hotel  looked  a  haven  of  re- 
pose, as  she  had  predicted;  and  Keith,  who  felt 
that  his  plan  had  been  masterly  and  his  execu- 
tion brilliant,  was  a  lively  companion  till  he  in- 
sisted on  ringing  for  somebody  to  remove  two 
prints  from  the  bedroom  walls. 

"But  they're  by  Landseer,"  expostulated 
Betty;  "the  people  will  think  we're  crazy." 

"Let  them  think!  Never  be  dazzled  by  names. 
These  things  aren't  pictures,  they're  brutalities. 
Look  at  'Waiting  for  the  Deer  to  Rise.'  Ruffians 
crouching  to  destroy  a  splendid  animal!  Is  there 
anything  beautiful  in  that?  We  won't  ask  if  it's 


152  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

'ennobling/  but  is  there  a  gleam  of  beauty  in  it? 
Now  look  at  'How  to  get  the  Deer  Home' ;  that's 
worse  art  still.  The  composition  is  all  subordi- 
nated to  the  tortured  face  of  the  animal  in  its 
death  agonies.  The  subjects  are  revolting.  An 
artist  would  never  have  touched  them." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  see  it  now.  I  hadn't 
thought  of  it  like  that." 

So  the  prints  in  their  maple  frames  were 
banished,  and  the  hotel  manager  was  much 
diverted  privately  by  "these  visitors'  ignorance, 
in  objecting  to  pictures  which,  if  they  had  only 
noticed  it,  were  by  Landseer!" 

They  gave  themselves  a  short  holiday.  Then 
they  went  out  to  conquer,  and  came  back  to 
quail.  In  the  morning  they  discovered  that  they 
could  not  "go  West  for  about  the  same  rent"; 
and  in  the  afternoon  they  learnt  that  they 
could  not  go  to  Clement's  Inn  either,  nor  even 
to  Maida  Vale.  By  the  following  night  they 
had  serious  doubts  whether  they  would  be  afcle 
to  go  anywhere,  for  every  microscopic  and 
exorbitant  flat  that  they  viewed  addressed  itself 
to  bachelors  only.  The  quest  extended  to  strange 
districts,  and  it  was  revealed  to  the  innocents 
that  the  modern  landlord,  with  a  house  that 
would  be  difficult  to  let  at  a  hundred  a  year,  calls 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  153 

each  of  its  stories  a  "flat,"  and  lets  it  at  three 
hundred  and  fifty  instead. 

"The  dazzle  of  the  name,"  said  Keith,  "there 
we  have  it  again!  Shakespeare  didn't  say 
'What's  in  a  name?'  as  a  writing-man,  he  saw 
the  value  of  a  name  thoroughly.  The  bosh  was 
Juliet's,  who  saw  nothing  but  Romeo." 

"Oh,  don't  improve  the  occasion,"  said  Betty, 
"my  shoes  are  pinching.  It  seems  to  me  we 
might  as  well  ask  for  a  brace  of  dodos.  By 
rights,  we  ought  to  give  the  idea  up." 

He  knew  that  as  well  as  she.  If  they  had 
been  practical  they  would  have  searched  for  bet- 
ter servants,  and  returned  to  Sibella  Road.  But 
he  loved  her — marriage  had  deepened  the  man's 
feelings,  too — so  he  only  put  her  into  a  cab,  and 
said,  "Well,  after  all,  in  a  flat  there  are  no  rates 
and  taxes  to  pay!" 

It  is  a  fatal  phrase. 

And  there  was  the  determining  influence  of 
the  "party."  Scarcely  a  fortnight  had  gone  by 
when  the  agent  in  St.  John's  Wood  wrote  that 
the  villa  could  be  sub-let  to  a  "party"  who  was 
not  unwilling  to  acquire  all  the  new  furniture  for 
considerably  less  than  it  had  cost. 

"It  seems  too  lucky  to  be  true!"  cried  Betty 
joyously. 

It  wasn't. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Opulent  from  the  sale  of  the  furniture,  Keith 
heard  flat  rents  with  fortitude. 

They  succumbed  to  Telemachus  Mansions. 

Telemachus  Mansions  were  squeezed  into  a 
back  street  near  the  hotel,  and  were  accordingly 
boastful  of  being  Kensington,  They  boasted 
also  that  the  tenants  "enjoyed  the  benefits  per- 
taining to  a  perfectly  appointed  home,  without 
the  vexations  of  housekeeping."  The  rooms  had 
not  been  constructed  to  hold  many  things,  but 
that  was  all  the  better  for  the  bank  balance ;  nor 
was  there  a  restaurant,  as  expected;  but  "meals 
prepared  under  the  personal  superintendence  of 
a  skilled  chef,  and  served  in  the  residents'  own 
suites,"  sounded  even  pleasanter.  There  were  a 
liveried  porter,  and  a  languid  lift.  The  rent  was 
a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  per  annum;  the 
weekly  charge  for  domestic  service,  a  half- 
guinea  per  head;  and  the  cheapest  meal,  a  half- 
crown  per  mouth — excepting  a  cup  of  tea,  with 
bread-and-butter,  in  the  afternoon,  which  was 
offered  recklessly  for  ninepence. 

They  moved  in  towards  the  close  of  Septem- 
ber, and  their  first  evening  in  the  Mansions  was 
less  romantic  than  their  first  evening  in  the  villa. 
It  had  not  been  thrilling  to  Keith  to  see  her  open 
a  wardrobe  in  a  shop  this  time.  On  the  contrary, 
the  whole  experience  had  been  very  tiring,  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  156 

it  seemed  to  him  that  his  work  had  been  at  a 
standstill  ever  since  his  marriage.  Nevertheless, 
they  were  cheerful  enough,  though  the  dinner  of 
the  "personal  superintendence"  was  tepid,  and  a 
fire  would  have  been  more  exhilarating  than  a 
stove  ornament. 

At  nine  o'clock  next  morning  he  strode  out  to 
the  studio  near  the  Foundling,  and  she  was  not 
to  expect  him  back  till  dusk.  Never  had  a 
woman  sworn  more  loyally  to  see  only  the  bright 
side  of  things.  She  played  the  piano  and  chose 
her  liveliest  music  to  help  her  to  feel  that  she 
was  in  high  spirits.  She  gazed  out  of  the  narrow 
window,  and  tried  to  believe  that  the  mean  view 
was  interesting.  After  the  Swiss  youth  brought 
in  a  lukewarm  luncheon,  she  flavoured  it  by  dwell- 
ing on  the  luncheons  in  Sibella  Road.  When 
tedium  drove  her  out  into  a  drizzle,  she  reminded 
herself  that  the  walk  wasn't  aimless,  because 
there  was  a  ton  of  coal  to  be  ordered.  Her  in- 
tentions were  excellent. 

And  time,  and  acquaintances,  helped  her. 
Hitherto  she  had  met  but  few  of  her  husband's 
friends,  and  seen  nothing  of  the  women  who,  he 
had  once  told  her,  arrived  with  their  babies  and 
put  them  to  sleep  on  the  host's  bed.  Now  the 
social  circle  began  to  widen.  There  were  paint- 
ers— a  good  many  painters — and  an  author  or 


156  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

two,  and  an  actor  and  his  wife.  On  the  whole,  an 
interesting  set,  as  their  different  languages  be- 
came intelligible  to  her.  In  October  the  actor's 
wife  was  jubilant  because  "Peter" — whose 
Christian  name  on  the  programmes  was  "Pel- 
ham" — had  been  engaged  to  support  Cornelia 
Warwick  in  Fedora.  And  in  November  she  was 
angry  with  him  because  he  had  been  dismissed. 
She  explained  the  incident  one  evening  at  a  gath- 
ering in  Chelsea. 

"He  used  to  dig  his  knuckles  into  her  skinny 
chest  and  batter  her  on  the  sofa  till  she  came 
off  crying  every  night.  She  showed  him  her 
bruises  and  begged  him  to  take  care.  'Realistic 
scene,'  he  said;  'can't  spoil  it!'  The  woman  was 
black  and  blue — of  course  she  gave  him  his 
notice." 

"How  unintelligent  of  her,"  murmured 
Tracey  Wynne.  "More  earnestness  is  what  we 
need  in  our  actors.  On  the  stage,  artistic 
ideals " 

"Artistic  ideals  anywhere  are  like  measles — 
if  you  don't  get  them  over  while  you're  young, 
you're  likely  to  find  them  serious,"  interrupted 
a  journalist.  "The  road  to  Rowton  House  is 
paved  with  artistic  ideals." 

"I  don't  want  to  turn  your  head,  but  some- 
times I  read  you,"  said  Keith;  "and  you  wrote 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  157 

lately  that  we  had  'too  many  idealists,  and  too 
few  ideals.' ' 

"My  dear  fellow,  a  journalist's  daily  necessity 
for  making  new  comments  on  old  subjects  forces 
many  a  clever  man  to  write  stupid  things." 

"Well,  he  ought  to  suffer  for  them,"  said 
Wynne. 

"So  he  does — he  sees  them  quoted  under 
'Watchwords  of  Wisdom'  and  shivers  with 
shame." 

"Talking  of  stupidity  and  the  stage,"  re- 
marked Premlow,  "I  met  an  actress  in  Bond 
Street  the  other  day 

"Where's  Bond  Street?"  asked  Betty.  "We 
are  humble." 

The  journalist  laughed,  and  Keith  glanced  at 
her  proudly. 

"Bond  Street,"  said  Wynne,  "is  where  am- 
bitious souls  like  Premlow  promenade,  in  the 
hope  of  being  mentioned  among  'well-known 
people  to  be  seen  yesterday.'  Go  on  with  the 
story,  Premmy — you're  a  long  while  coming  to 
the  point." 

"Shut  up !  Well,  as  I  was  talking  to  her,  Vis- 
count Armoury  passed " 

"The  aristocracy  do  pet  you,  Premlow!" 

"No,  but  really,  listen  to  this!  I  don't  know 
if  you've  seen  him? — he'd  be  a  first-rate  model 


158  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

for  a  groom.  I  said  to  her,  'He  doesn't  look 
much  like  a  viscount,  does  he?'  She  affected  a 
superior  smile — at  my  naivete,  and  drawled,  'It 
depends  what  you  expect  a  viscount  to  look  like!' 
It's  even  betting  which  of  us  considers  the  other 
the  bigger  fool  now — each  of  us  is  going  about 
London  thinking  that  the  other  has  said  the 
silliest  thing  on  record." 

Yes,  the  acquaintances  were  helpful  for  a  time. 
But  very  soon  she  was  unwilling  to  visit  or  re- 
ceive ;  and,  boxed  in  the  three-roomed  flat  during 
the  long  days  while  Keith  was  away,  she  was 
very  dull  indeed.  Often  he  took  her  to  the 
studio,  and  in  a  basket-chair  by  the  fire  she  was 
fascinated  when  effects  on  the  canvas  leapt  into 
life,  under  apparently  random  dabs.  As  she 
watched  him,  alternately  retreating  and  advanc- 
ing, laying  on  the  pigments  with  an  air  of 
absorption  and  seemingly  erratic  brushes,  she 
was  reminded  once  of  the  picture-bricks  of  her 
childhood— a  dab  could  look  so  meaningless, 
and,  with  the  next,  could  mean  so  much.  Yet 
instinct,  rather  than  any  words  from  him,  told 
her  that  his  heart  wasn't  in  this  work,  and  there 
were  half-hours  when  she  led  him  to  talk  of 
"The  Harbour  of  Souls" — and,  indeed,  caught 
much  of  his  feeling  for  it.  Love  cannot  make  an 
artist,  but  already  love  had  lifted  this  clever  girl 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  159 

above  her  earlier  standpoint  of  mentor.  She  no 
longer  counselled  him  to  be  "smart";  she  had 
begun  to  understand  that  he  was  to  be  great. 
Sitting  there  by  the  fire,  as  he  painted  the  kind 
of  thing  that  went  off  best,  she  often  secretly 
reproached  herself  for  their  increased  expendi- 
ture. 

For  life  in  Telemachus  Mansions  was  proving 
very  dear.  It  had  transpired  also  that  "domestic 
service"  did  not  include  attention  to  "brass,  sil- 
ver, china,"  and  various  other  articles.  In  fact, 
the  list  of  things  that  the  staff  repudiated  had 
been  so  long  that,  at  the  first  glance,  Keith 
wondered  what  remained  for  them  to  clean. 
Originally  he  had  arranged  for  a  charwoman  to 
come  in  once  a  week,  but  the  flat  had  accumu- 
lated so  much  dirt  under  the  perfunctory  flick- 
ings  of  "domestic  service,"  that  soon  the  ar- 
rangement was  extended  to  an  hour  every  morn- 
ing. Like  most  charwomen,  she  had  "known 
better  days,"  and  on  the  mornings  when  Betty 
stayed  at  home,  little  Mrs.  Mills  leant  on  the 
broom  conversationally  and  narrated  her  misfor- 
tunes, which  had  been  chiefly  matrimonial,  and 
partly  alcoholic. 

She  was  no  saint  in  tatters,  but  she  was  an  old 
and  fairly  honest  drudge,  and,  far  as  she  was 
from  guessing  it,  she  imparted  educative  details 


160  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

which  were  worth  the  numerous  half-crowns 
that  Betty  slipped  into  the  scarred  hands.  The 
disciple  in  the  art  of  painting  remained  a  laggard 
in  the  science  of  economy,  despite  her  self-re- 
proaches. Betty  was  always  making  beautiful 
resolutions,  and  always  tipping  with  two  half- 
crowns  where  other  people  tipped  with  twopence. 
The  bent  charwoman  revealed  to  the  daughter 
of  the  millionaire  the  world  of  humble  hopes. 
Her  confidences  unroofed  slums,  and  through 
the  rags  of  the  poor,  the  girl  had  glimpses  of  the 
humanity  and  motherhood  beneath. 

Towards  Christmas,  she  heard  from  Mrs. 
Waldehast  that  Howard  had  "given  everyone  a 
scare,  but  was  convalescent  now."  She  was 
shocked  to  read  that  the  scare  had  been  caused 
by  the  rupture  of  a  blood-vessel.  However, 
there  was  no  reason  to  be  anxious,  she  was  told : 
"It  was  probably  the  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened,  for  he  had  been  scared  himself,  and 
would  doubtless  live  more  steadily  in  con- 
sequence." 

She  wrote  an  urgent  letter  to  him,  and  an 
anxious  one  to  her  father,  by  the  next  mail. 

At  the  narrow  window  she  used  to  sit  thinking 
of  what  was  to  come,  and  watching  the  snow 
flutter.  She  spent  many  hours  thinking.  The 
novels  from  Mudie's  lay  neglected;  under  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  161 

loudening  call  of  life,  she  cared  less  for  books. 
So  the  new  year  opened,  and  the  months  passed 
—Keith  painting  unworthy  pictures  worthily,  to 
buy  peace  for  his  wife;  and  the  girl  rearing 
castles  in  the  air  for  the  wonder-child  who  was 
to  call  her  "Mother." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  wonder-child  lay  forgotten  in  the  fender, 
for  the  mother  claimed  all  thoughts.  Presently 
she  whimpered,  "Where's  my  baby?"  and 
someone  turned  from  her  to  pick  it  up.  "Now 
would  you  like  a  little  son,  or  a  little  daughter?" 
she  was  asked  jocosely.  And  she  quavered, 
"I  don't  mind,"  for  fear  of  hurting  the  baby's 
feelings.  "It's  a  boy,"  they  told  her;  and  she 
was  glad. 

At  last,  when  they  came  to  him,  Keith's 
mouth  would  make  no  sound;  they  replied  to 
the  torture  in  his  eyes.  He  dropped  a  touch 
upon  the  living  bundle — his  Universe  was  be- 
yond the  door. 

"You  mustn't  agitate  her,  remember!" 

He  was  gulping,  and  shuddering,  but  nodded 
sagely.  His  mind  had  foreseen  her  radiant  with 
relief.  Her  face  lay  on  the  pillow  like  a  tired 
flower. 

"Dickie!"  she  bleated. 

In  this  wise,  Richard  the  Second  was  born  to 
his  kingdom  of  the  third  room. 

162 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AND  when  she  was  well  and  saw  him  in  it,  her 
motherhood  protested.  She  had  hoped  for  it 
to  look  pretty,  and  she  found  it  piteous.  Her 
extravagance  had  run  riot  in  the  paraphernalia 
of  infancy;  but  the  nurse's  box  encroached  on 
the  doorway,  her  garments  bulged  from  the  walls 
— the  child  was  cradled  in  a  cloak-room  I 

Betty  recalled  her  own  nurseries,  and  resented 
her  babe's. 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  have  some  of  those 
things  put  away,  nurse?"  she  inquired  once.  The 
nurse  was  an  efficient  and  dignified  person, 
whose  wages  were  thirty  pounds  a  year,  anH 
Betty  inquired  respectfully. 

"Well,  ma'am,  I'm  sure  I've  done  my  best. 
The  chest  of  drawers  won't  hold  everything,  and 
there  isn't  a  wardrobe." 

And  there  was  no  space  for  a  wardrobe. 

"I  know;  of  course  a  flat  is  very  inconvenient." 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  moving  before  long, 
ma'am?"  It  was  less  a  question  than  a  mandate. 

163 


164  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"It'd  never  do  to  keep  the  poor  little  mite  'ere 
for  good." 

"You  think  it  wouldn't?"  murmured  Betty. 

"Well,  you  see  what  it  is  for  yourself,  ma'am 
— there's  nowhere  to  put  a  thing  down.  What 
he'd  do  when  he  began  to  crawl,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know!  I  haven't  liked  to  speak,  but,  as  I  said 
when  I  came,  I've  always  been  used  to  my  two 
nurseries  and  an  under-nurse.  If  I'd  known 
what  a  muddle  it  was  to  be,  I  don't  think  I  should 
'ave  cared  to  take  the  place." 

For  an  indignant  moment  Betty  turned  to 
tell  her  that  she  needn't  stay  in  it.  But  Baby 
was  so  safe  with  her!  had  not  the  omniscient 
"Monthly"  herself  pronounced  her  competent? 
What  would  befall  him  if  she  left? 

"We  must  try  to  make  the  best  of  it  for  a  little 
while,"  she  answered  meekly. 

There  were  many  opportunities  for  her  meek- 
ness. The  "domestic  service"  of  Telemachus 
Mansions  appeared  incapable  of  rising  to  a 
nurse's  presence,  and  certainly  it  did  not  rise  to 
her  bell.  She  who  had  been  used  to  an  under- 
nurse  to  do  her  bidding  remained  with  her  august 
thumb  on  the  button  unheeded.  The  father,  be- 
ing away  all  day,  escaped  most  of  her  grievances, 
though  he  heard  enough  to  exasperate  him,  but 
the  mother  had  to  listen  to  them  all.  There  are 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  165 

no  ranker  snobs  than  servants,  and  the  superior 
references  to  "Clarence  Gate,  where,  of  course, 
it  was  all  so  different  and  no  expense  was 
spared!"  were  galling  to  Betty  Keith,  nee  Lynch. 

So  was  the  woman's  important  demeanour. 
As  she  rose  when  Betty  entered,  her  bearing 
intimated  that  to  enter  was  to  intrude.  "This 
really  isn't  the  thing!"  was  stamped  on  her  ex- 
pression. The  very  attitude  in  which  she  waited 
implied  forbearance,  and  in  the  nursery  Betty 
was  made  to  feel  less  a  mother  than  a  visitor. 

There  was  even  an  afternoon  when  she  was 
reproved.  Nurse  remarked  severely,  "I'm  afraid 
Baby's  not  dressed  as  you  would  have  liked  to 
see  'im,  ma'am.  Everywhere  else  the  lady  has 
always  sent  for  the  baby  to  be  taken  to  the  draw- 
ing-room." 

"Well,  I  don't  come  to  see  his  frocks,"  said 
Betty. 

"No'm.  Everywhere  else  the  lady  has  knocked 
at  the  door  before  she  came  in." 

"I  knock  too  in  the  morning  and  at  night — I 
knock  before  I  come  into  your  bedroom.  But  in 
the  daytime  this  is  the  nursery." 

"I've  always  been  used  to  my  ladies  knocking 
at  the  night-nursery  and  day -nursery  as  well. 
In  Clarence  Gate  it  was  always  done.  Nobody 
has  ever  walked  in  before.  While  we're  on  the 


166  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

subject,  I  may  say  I  'ave  never  had  a  lady  want 
to  see  the  baby  quite  so  often  as  you  do,  ma'am. 
As  you  know,  I  'ave  always  taken  my  babies 
from  the  month — I  am  a  sole-charge  nurse,  I 
know  my  duties,  I'm  used  to  being  trusted." 

Again,  what  would  befall  him  if  she  left?  The 
girl  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"It  isn't  that  I  don't  trust  you,  nurse,"  she 
said.  "I  should  like  you  to  understand  that  I 
trust  you  very  much  or  you  wouldn't  be  here. 
But  I  don't  knock  at  my  nursery  door,  and  I  see 
my  child  just  as  often  as  I  please.  I  am  not 
interested  to  hear  about  the  customs  of  other 
mothers." 

She  bent  over  the  cot.  Would  the  "notice" 
crash? 

Nurse  mumbled,  and  moved  to  the  washhand- 
stand.  After  this  there  was  more  tolerance  in 
her  manner,  though  her  dignity  was  still  im- 
pressive. 

Meanwhile,  the  man  was  not  without  his  own 
troubles.  In  his  bank-book  the  word  "Cash"  no 
longer  figured,  and  the  numerous  entries  were  all 
on  the  wrong  side. 

The  theory  has  been  advanced  that  artists 
should  be  poor,  to  yield  the  utmost  from  their 
talent.  It  is  also  recommended  that  geese  be 
roasted  alive  to  enlarge  their  livers  for  your 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  167 

pate.  Keith's  experiences  did  nothing  to  sup- 
port the  amiable  theory.  Pecuniary  cares  neither 
improved  his  quality  nor  accelerated  his  speed, 
though  a  list  of  sending-in  days  was  scrawled 
over  the  mantelpiece  for  a  motto.  Out  of  the 
studio  he  would  tell  himself  that,  to  paint  reck- 
lessly, only  will  power  was  essential — and  out  of 
the  studio  he  would  register  oaths  to  do  it;  but 
the  following  day  would  again  see  him  oblitera- 
ting the  work  of  the  day  before — plodding  with 
conscientious  and  uninspired  touches. 

When  he  came  home  disgusted  with  himself 
one  evening  Betty  said: 

"Dick,  I've  something  to  ask  you:  I  want  you 
to  paint  a  portrait  of  Baby." 

"A  portrait  of  Baby?  Yes,  I've  nothing  else 
to  do!'? 

"It  wouldn't  take  you  long." 

"I'm  too  hard  pressed  just  now.  Besides, 
there's  nothing  to  paint." 

"Nothing  to  paint?"  she  exclaimed. 

"It's  all  clothes." 

"I  guess  /  could  find  something  to  paint,"  she 
said  reproachfully.  "He's  got  the  sweetest  smile 
I  ever  saw,  and  the  way  his  little  hands  droop  is 
just  perfect.  Did  you  ever  see  eyes  like  his  in  a 
baby  before  ?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  dear  little  soul — don't  imagine  I'm 


168  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

running  it  down.  I  had  no  idea  I  could  get  so 
fond  of  a  baby;  I  always  thought  a  child  only 
began  to  be  human  when  it  was  two  or  three 
years  old.  But  I  can't  paint  it  yet,  really!" 

"All  right,"  she  returned  crossly.  "I'll  have 
him  done  at  a  photographer's  instead.  It's 
rather  a  funny  thing,  I  must  say,  when  his 
father's  an  artist  I" 

But  in  most  cases  their  views  about  the 
younger  Richard — who  had  been  christened  with 
due  pomp — were  identical.  Once  when  he  lay 
on  her  lap  Keith  announced  his  intention  of  giv- 
ing him  boxing  lessons  before  he  was  sent  to 
school. 

"I  shan't  let  him  go  till  he  has  learnt,"  he  said; 
"then  I'll  be  sure  he  won't  be  bullied  by  young 
ruffians  twice  his  size.  Every  boy  ought  to  be 
taught  before  he's  sent." 

"Were  you?" 

"No,  afterwards.  That's  what  makes  me  keen 
on  it ;  he  shall  have  the  benefit  of  my  experience. 
If  he  knows  how  to  defend  himself,  there'll  be 
no  need  for  him  to  do  it  more  than  once." 

"I  wouldn't  like  him  taught  by  a  stranger, 
though,"  she  said;  "a  boxing-master  would  be 
too  rough." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  aren't  rough — the 
best  men." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  169 

"Well,  but  for  such  a  little  chap- 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  shall  teach  him  myself;  I'd 
like  to!  I'll  get  him  a  little  pair  of  gloves,  and  a 
little  suit  of  flannels 

"Oh,  won't  he  look  like  a  duck  in  flannels!" 
cried  Betty. 

"And  take  him  for  half  an  hour  every  morn- 
ing !  There's  no  occasion  for  him  to  learn  a  great 
deal,  either;  a  good  lead-off  and  a  quick  guard 
are  about  all  he  wants  to  hold  his  own." 

At  this  point  the  future  pugilist  whined  for 
his  "soother,"  and  Betty,  popping  the  india-rub- 
ber into  his  mouth,  cooed  to  him  the  strange  lan- 
guage in  which  she  had  become  so  suddenly  pro- 
ficient. 

"I  wonder  if  it  understands  anything  of  what 
you  mean?"  said  Keith,  regarding  them  thought- 
fully. 

"Mmps!"  affirmed  Betty.  "Of  course  he  un- 
derstands. I3id  his  father  ask  such  things  about 
him,  then,  a  blessing?  And  his  liddley  toofy- 
pegs  hurting  all-a-time!  There-then-there!  Did- 
ums-was?"  She  swayed  gently,  with  her  baby 
on  her  bosom.  "Cuddley  up,  and  coosha-bye!" 

The  balance  at  the  bank  continued  to  dwindle, 
and,  with  it,  Keith's  store  of  cheerfulness.  In 
Kensington  Gardens  the  perambulators  were 
fewer  now — already  many  children  of  more 


170  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

prosperous  fathers  had  been  taken  to  the  sea. 
The  desirability  of  the  third  room  was  not  in- 
creased by  the  summer  heat,  and  there  was  an 
evening  when  Betty  referred  to  their  own  de- 
parture. 

"When  do  you  think  we  might  take  Baby 
away?"  she  inquired.  "It's  not  doing  him  any 
good  to  be  in  London  this  weather." 

Keith  knocked  out  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  be- 
fore he  answered. 

"I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  wait  a  bit,"  he 
said. 

The  average  woman  might  .have  asked 
"Why?"  Betty's  apprehension  was  too  quick 
for  that ;  but  the  average  woman  would  have  been 
much  less  shocked.  Mercilessly  as  the  sense  of 
poverty  had  pricked  since  the  child's  birth,  this 
was  its  first  thrust.  The  f aintness  of  horror  was 
on  her  as  she  sat  realising  that  they  were  too 
hard  up  to  afford  a  change  of  air. 

"I  didn't  know,"  she  stammered.  "Yes,  of 
course,  we  can  go  later  on." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry;  we  shall  be  out  of  the 
corner  soon.  I  shouldn't  have  mentioned  it  if 
you  hadn't  spoken  of  the  seaside.  It's  only 
temporary." 

"How  poor  are  we?" 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  for  you  to  look  so  anxious 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  171 

about!  I'm  bound  to  sell  something  directly.  As 
soon  as  I  get  a  cheque,  you  can  go." 

"Won't  you  go  too?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that;  I  can't  spare  the 
time." 

"Well,  but — I  hadn't  any  idea,  I  don't  under- 
stand. What  has  happened,  what's  the  reason 
of  it  all?" 

"The  reason?  The  reason  is  I'm  not  making 
enough  money." 

"But—     -  Have  we  been  spending  too  much?" 

Keith  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  suppose 
that's  what  it  amounts  to.  It's  not  your  fault; 
things  have  got  to  be  paid  for;  but  everything 
here  costs  three  times  what  it's  worth.  Even 
when  one  sells  a  picture  one  doesn't  see  anything 
out  of  it." 

He  refilled  the  pipe,  and  for  nearly  a  minute 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  rumble  on  the  road. 
At  last  she  said  drearily,  "There  doesn't  seem 
much  to  look  forward  to!" 

"Oh,  I  daresay  it'll  be  all  right,"  he  sighed. 

But  she  had  uttered  his  own  opinion.  For  a 
long  while  he  had  felt  that  there  wasn't  much  to 
look  forward  to.  Unless  they  got  rid  of  the  flat, 
and  led  the  life  primitive  in  Cornwall — which 
was  out  of  the  question  for  her — the  best  that 


172  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

he  could  expect  was  to  potboil  adequately. 
Time  for  good  work  there  would  never  be! 

The  temperature  of  the  third  room  grew  more 
oppressive,  and  in  Kensington  Gardens  the  chil- 
dren played  with  spades  and  pails — souvenirs  of 
the  sands.  As  she  took  her  daily  walk  under  the 
dusty  trees,  Betty  noted  them;  but  she  spoke 
no  more  of  leaving  town. 

From  New  York  came  the  tidings  that  How- 
ard had  been  induced  to  submit  himself  to  a 
sanatorium  in  Colorado.  She  heard  that  he  had 
really  begun  to  take  an  interest  in  his  condition, 
so  the  news  must  not  be  considered  bad.  On  the 
contrary,  the  physicians  all  said  that  six  months 
of  the  air,  diet,  and  early  hours  would  effect  a 
cure.  The  letter  was  nevertheless  startling,  for  it 
implied  that  his  present  condition  was  much  less 
satisfactory  than  she  had  understood. 

In  the  heat,  the  nurse's  grievances  against  the 
staff  developed,  and  at  last  it  was  necessary  to 
call  Keith's  attention  to  the  matter  again. 

"Oh,  send  her  away!"  he  cried,  for  he  was 
tired  of  remonstrating  downstairs.  "There  are 
plenty  of  other  nurses  to  be  got." 

"Not  such  good  ones,  though,"  objected 
Betty.  "Besides,  it's  no  fault  of  hers,  you  know 
that." 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  can't  go  down  to  the  kitchen 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  173 

to  cook  her  dimmer,  and  I  can't  stay  at  home  to 
run  to  her  bell.  I  don't  understand  why  she 
needs  to  keep  ringing  it;  it's  she  who's  engaged 
to  look  after  the  baby — the  waiters  aren't!" 

"Oh,  don't  talk  foolishness!"  exclaimed  Betty 
angrily.  "I've  been  there  myself  when  she  has 
rung  for  the  bath,  and  nobody  has  come  for  half 
an  hour.  She's  obliged  to  ring  for  something  or 
other  twenty  times  a  day." 

"It's  not  surprising  they're  sick  of  coming  up, 
then;  we  can't  monopolise  the  staff — we've  only 
one  flat!" 

"'Flat'!" 

"What?" 

"Oh!"  The  gesture  with  which  she  turned 
from  him  was  intolerant. 

"So  the  flat  isn't  good  enough?  Is  that  what 
it  means?" 

"Have  I  ever  said  so?" 

"It  sounded  like  it  just  now."  His  voice 
quivered  under  the  restraint  that  he  was  putting 
on  it. 

"And  if  it  did?  That  wouldn't  be  surprising 
either!  Don't  make  any  mistake,  Dick — I  don't 
shut  my  eyes  because  I  hold  my  tongue.  If  you 
were  in  that  cupboard  that's  called  a  'nursery' 
a  little  oftener,  you'd  know  what  it  was  like  to 
live  in  it." 


174  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"If  I'm  not  there  oftener,  it's  because  I'm 
working  to  pay  the  rent!"  He  walked  up  and 
down,  trembling.  "This  is  all  that  woman!"  he 
broke  out  vehemently.  "I  wish  we  had  never 
seen  her.  I  won't  have  her  here — she  shan't 
stop." 

"Oh  yes,  she  shall,"  said  Betty.  "Baby  can't 
do  without  her." 

"I  say  she  shan't!  She's  a  firebrand,  she's  a 
curse.  I've  heard  nothing  but  her  complaints 
from  the  day  she  came." 

"You  have  heard?    You  haven't  heard  half." 

"I  never  come  back  to  the  place  without  hear- 
ing that  nurse  wants  something  altered,  or 
something  dear,  or  something  impossible.  As  I 
cross  the  threshold,  it's  my  greeting." 

"That's  a  wicked  lie."  ' 

"I  breathe  complaints !  I  get  up  to  them,  and 
take  them  to  the  studio  with  me,  and  come  home 
to  more.  My  head  swirls  with  complaints.  I've 
myself  to  consider  too;  I've  my  work  to  think 
about.  The  situation's  not  luxurious  enough  for 
her?  Very  well,  then,  she  can  leave  it.  Are  we 
to  be  brought  to  ruin  because  nurse  gets  her  din- 
ner late?  To-morrow  she  can  dine  when  she 
likes — it  won't  be  here.  I'm  going  to  tell  her 
so  now!" 

"You  won't!"  declared  Betty.    "Don't  do  it, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  175 

because  you'll  have  to  take  it  back!  I  won't  have 
her  dismissed — I  refuse  to  put  Baby  in  the  hands 
of  a  stranger.  It's  bad  enough  for  him  as  it  is, 
Heaven  knows,  without  risking  his  life." 

"Risking  his  life!  Don't  you  suppose  I  love 
the  baby  as  much  as  you  do? — he  means  a  great 
deal  more  to  me  than  you  know.  ...  I'm  sorry 
for  what  I  said  just  now — that  was  an  exaggera- 
tion." 

"Exaggeration?  Exaggeration  is  a  very  deli- 
cate name  for  it." 

"Well,  you  were  less  delicate  yourself." 

"I  said  just  the  truth — I  have  kept  a  hundred 
worries  from  you;  there  have  been  a  hundred 
worries  for  me  that  you.  have  never  dreamt  of. 
And  to  tell  me  that  I  have  greeted  you  with  com- 
plaints every  evening  is  an  infamous  thing." 

"I've  told  you  I'm  sorry.  Besides,  I  didn't 
say  they  were  your  own  complaints.  I  know 
very  well,  if  you're  being  badgered  to  death, 
you've  got  to  speak  of  it  to  me.  Of  course  you 
have.  I  hope  you  always  will — I  don't  want  you 
to  keep  it  to  yourself  and  feel  that  you've  nobody 
to  talk  to.  I  only  say  that  it  gets  in  the  way  of 
the  work.  I  can't  paint  when  my  brain's  full  of 
bells,  and  baths,  and  nurses.  I  don't  see  why 
either  of  us  should  go  on  being  bothered  by  her; 
I  don't  see  any  reason  for  us  to  put  up  with  it.'* 


176  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Baby's  the  reason.  Think  how  difficult  it 
was  to  get  any  one  we  could  feel  confidence  in, 
think  of  the  objects  that  came — creatures  with 
stutters  and  squints.  To  be  with  baby — he'd 
have  grown  up  a  freak!" 

"I  suppose  they  weren't  all  physically 
afflicted?" 

"They  were  all  hopeless — all  that  I  saw.  If 
they  had  their  faculties,  they  hadn't  any  charac- 
ters worth  mentioning.  I  could  have  gone  down 
on  my  knees  with  gratitude  when  we  got  this 
woman — I'd  put  up  with  anything  rather  than 
lose  her." 

"Oh,  well,  keep  her,  by  all  means!  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done.  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  bullying 
them  will  do  any  good.  I  had  better  try  more 
tips." 

"She  cbmes  expensive,  I  know,"  said  Betty 
pacifically. 

"Oh,  I  daresay  another  three  or  four  bob  a 
week  will  settle  it,"  he  returned.  And  their  dif- 
ference was  mutually  ignored. 

But  hitherto,  after  a  difference,  they  had  al- 
ways "made  it  up"  frankly,  and  kissed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE  received  a  cheque  soon  afterwards — for  a 
small  work  that  had  been  exhibited  at  the  New 
Gallery — but  the  price  was  only  forty  guineas, 
and  the  bank-book  told  such  a  sensational  story 
that  the  visit  to  the  sea  was  none  the  nearer.  At 
last  he  was  fainting  with  slovenly  speed,  paint- 
ing with  his  teeth  clenched,  and  Vivard,  Kluht, 
Ellsworthy  and  the  rest  of  them,  saw  him  often 
during  the  weeks  that  followed.  Betty's  hundred 
a  year  was  no  appreciable  aid  to  his  income.  He 
had  to  be  ready  for  two  rentals,  accounts  for 
catering,  charges*  for  attendance,  and  the  date 
for  the  nurse's  wages,  to  say  nothing  of  inciden- 
tal expenses.  The  liabilities  fell  dizzyingly,  and 
as  he  ran  about  London,  trying  to  save  the  situa- 
tion, he  felt  like  the  juggler  with  the  plates.  But 
he  got  no  applause. 

His  position  in  the  market  began  to  waver. 
The  dealers  were  no  longer  so  certain  that  he  was 
a  good  investment.  The  depression  might  be 
temporary,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  might  go 
the  way  that  many  another  artist  had  gone  after 

177 


178  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

marriage.  For  the  present,  however,  they  were 
not  unwilling  to  invest — at  prices;  if  he  justified 
their  earlier  expectations,  the  time  was  very 
favourable  for  acquiring  "Keiths" — the  work 
that  they  bought  to-day  for  a  song  might  be  sold 
a  few  years  hence  for  large  figures.  On  the 
whole,  they  were  pleased  to  see  him  when  he 
called,  though,  detecting  his  necessities,  they 
were  much  less  gracious  in  their  greeting.  He 
waited  now  at  Vivard's  before  Vivard  con- 
descended to  recognise  that  he  had  come  in. 

Mrs.  Waldehast  had  missed  the  season  here, 
but  written  that  she  and  her  husband  would  be 
in  Europe  in  the  fall.  They  meant  to  spend  a 
fortnight  of  their  time  in  London,  and  they  were 
coming  to  see  Betty  directly  they  arrived. 

Betty  awaited  them  with  mingled  feelings; 
she  would  be  very  glad  to  meet  Dardy  again,  but 
she  wished  that  the  meeting  weren't  to  take  place 
in  Telemachus  Mansions.  Though  she  had 
winced  at  the  thought  of  welcoming  her  to 
Sibella  Road,  the  little  house  had  looked  much 
better  than  the  diminutive  flat.  She  hoped  that 
the  invitation  to  dinner  would  be  declined;  and 
as  she  arranged  flowers,  on  the  afternoon  that  the 
visit  was  expected,  she  was  painfully  conscious 
that  one  couldn't  furnish  a  drawing-room  with 
chrysanthemums. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  179 

Mrs.  Waldehast  came  alone,  in  a  motor  and 
a  costume  that  made  Betty  feel  very  cheap.  It 
was  explained  that  "Hal  had  been  detained  in 
the  hotel  at  the  last  moment."  They  hugged 
each  other  and  chattered,  and  Dardy  restrained 
her  glances  with  commendable  tact. 

"It's  just  lovely  to  see  you  again!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "How  are  you?  Hal  was  dying  to 
come  with  me,  but  a  man  he  was  to  meet  on  busi- 
ness to-morrow  'phoned  to  say  he  was  bound  lo 
go  to  Paris  to-night;  so  Hal  had  to  stay  behind 
to  meet  him  now.  How's  the  baby?  I  suppose 
it's  the  only  baby  on  this  side  ?  Give  me  another 
kiss,  and  tell  me  all  about  him.  Where's  your 
husband?" 

"Dick's  very  well;  he's  in  his  old  studio,  you 
know — he'll  be  back  before  you  go.  How  did 
you  leave  everybody  at  home?  How's  Howard 
getting  on?  I  never  have  a  letter  from  him." 

"Oh,  I  hear  Howard's  going  ahead,  putting  on 
weight.  He  finds  the  place  very  dull,  of  course, 
but  that  was  just  what  he  wanted  to  set  him 
right;  he  wanted  strapping  down,  and  nursing 
up.  The  regimen  does  wonders  in  these  cases. 
A  friend  of  Hal's  last  year  was  much  worse  than 
Howard;  and  they  sent  him  to  a  sanatorium  for 
six  months,  and  he  came  out  strong  enough  to 


180  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

strangle  lions  before  breakfast.  Your  father 
seems  in  low  spirits." 

"About  Howard?" 

"I  suppose  that  has  something  to  do  with  it, 
but  I  think  it's  more  you  than  Howard;  he  told 
me  he  was  glad  when  I  went  round — he  'could 
hear  if  you  were  alive' !  You  don't  write  to  him 
very  often,  do  you?" 

"What  am  I  to  write  about?" 

Dardy  Waldehast  checked  a  sigh,  and  stroked 
her  muff. 

"Are  you  going  to  sit  in  those  things  for 
ever?"  said  Betty.  "There  was  a  time  when  you 
didn't  wait  to  be  asked!  Won't  you  stay  and, 
dine  with  us?  Perhaps  Hal  will  come  too?  You 
might  telephone  and  find  out." 

"I  can't  stay  this  evening;  we've  some  people 
coming  in.  Besides,  it's  just  on  the  cards  that 
Hal  might  take  a  notion  to  run  over  to  Paris 
with  this  man — it's  a  big  thing  they've  got  on." 

"Well,  you  won't  go,  will  you — you  aren't  go- 
ing to  rush  away  from  London  the  moment  you 
arrive?  Don't  be  hateful,  Dardy.  I  haven't 
seen  you  for  a  hundred  years." 

"My  dearest  girl,  I  hope  to  see  you  every  day 
for  two  weeks.  I  thought  we'd  have  a  day  to- 
gether to-morrow.  Can't  you  come  up  to  me  in 
the  morning?  Or  why  not  come  back  with  me 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  181 

this  afternoon — you  dine  with  us  instead.  What 
time  does  your  husband  come  in?" 

"He'll  be  in  in  about  an  hour.  But  we  won't 
dine  with  you — I'll  come  in  to-morrow  some 
time.  Where  are  you  staying?" 

"The  Ritz." 

"Where's  that?" 

"Why,  in  Piccadilly!  It's  the  new  hotel  just 
open.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard 
of  it?" 

"I — I  was  thinking  of  Paris  for  the  moment," 
said  Betty.  But  Telemachus  Mansions  were  a 
long  way  from  the  Ititz — in  another  world — and 
she  had  not  read  of  its  opening.  "Wait  a  minute; 
I  want  to  show  you  Baby!" 

Curled  ready  for  her  to  fetch  him,  his  frills 
protected  by  a  capacious  over-all,  he  was  finish- 
ing his  bottle.  When  she  instructed  the  nurse 
to  come  and  take  him  away  in  ten  minutes,  she 
blushed  for  herself — she  had  lived  to  be  proud 
of  exhibiting  a  trained  servant! 

It  had  been  an  anxious  question,  whether  he 
would  be  at  his  best  this  afternoon.  For  once 
he  showed  off  when  he  was  wanted  to!  And  at 
the  expiration  of  the  ten  minutes,  the  nurse's 
entrance,  in  her  immaculate  white,  was  very  satis- 
factory. The  cakes  for  tea,  too,  were  the 
daintiest  obtainable  in  High  Street,  and  there 


182  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

were  green  sandwiches  from  downstairs,  which 
would  be  charged  for  in  the  bill  at  fourpence  a 
bite.  For  a  delusive  instant  Betty  fancied  that 
perhaps  her  home  didn't  strike  Dardy  as  so 
dreadful  after  all.  For  an  instant  only.  In  the 
next,  she  felt  more  abject  for  the  thought. 

The  tea  lasted  until  Keith  returned;  and  as 
he  did  not  enter  the  passage  discreetly,  Dardy 
said,  "Here  he  is,  isn't  he?"  and  he  was  com- 
pelled to  show  himself  before  he  could  change 
his  clothes.  He  was  shabby  and  tired  when  he 
greeted  her;  it  occurred  to  Betty  for  the  first 
time,  while  she  watched  him  with  veiled  nervous- 
ness, that  he  had  acquired  the  air  of  a  failure. 

The  conversation  became  forced  and  insincere. 
The  lady  could  ask  no  intimate  questions  about 
his  affairs,  and  the  man  could  ask  no  social 
questions  about  New  York.  It  was  a  relief  to 
everyone  when  the  visit  ended.  Betty  would  go 
to  the  hotel  the  next  day;  Keith's  work,  alas! 
prevented  his  accompanying  her.  A  final  spurt 
of  false  gaiety,  parting  kisses,  and  a  trying  wait 
on  the  landing  for  the  leisurely  lift.  The  up- 
standing bow  in  the  lady's  hat  sunk  from  view 
— and  Betty  went  into  her  bedroom  and  groaned. 

Of  course  on  the  morrow  it  was  less  awkward. 
The  best  affection  is  susceptible  to  environment. 
The  discussion  of  the  "big  thing"  had  taken 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  183 

Waldehast  to  Paris,  as  foreseen,  and  in  the  pale 
pink-and-white  room  overlooking  Piccadilly  the 
two  women  were  alone.  Just  at  first  there  was 
some  embarrassment  when  Dardy  said — 

"I'm  so  mad  we  couldn't  get  a  parlour  on  the 
Park  side.  Still,  it's  only  for  two  weeks,  so  it 
doesn't  matter  so  much;  we  can  put  up  with 
this." 

To  Betty's  senses,  soothed  by  the  restful  aspect 
of  the  room,  "putting  up  with  it"  sounded  a 
little  arrogant.  The  hostess  recognised  her 
blunder,  and  her  words  fell  fast  to  cover  it. 

It  was  not  eighteen  months  ago  that  they  had 
talked  together  of  the  engagement  with  the  ut- 
most freedom,  but  the  time  and  the  marriage  had 
interposed  a  barrier,  and  not  immediately  was 
it  broken.  A  sentence,  a  word,  something  un- 
designed, and  then  the  delicate  ground  was 
reached.  Betty  had  said,  "Of  course  that's  be- 
tween ourselves!"  The  rest  was  easy. 

Mrs.  Waldehast  had  come  back  from  Ken- 
sington dismayed.  With  the  best  intentions,  she 
implored  her  not  to  go  on  humouring  her  hus- 
band's folly. 

"It's  as  much  for  his  sake  as  for  yours  that 
I'm  speaking,"  she  said;  and  though  they  both 
knew  that  it  wasn't,  the  phrase  enabled  her  to 


184  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

continue.  "Remember  you've  got  a  child  to  con- 
sider— it's  all  very  rough  on  the  child!" 

"Oh/'  sighed  Betty,  "I  don't  forget  that!  I 
never  dreamed  I  could  be  such  a  devoted  mother, 
Dardy.  I  just  worship  my  baby.  I  could  eat 
him  up  sometimes."  She  added  dutifully,  "Of 
course  I'm  very  fond  of  Richard  too." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Waldehast. 

"But  I  did  promise,  you  know." 

"Rubbish!" 

"I  was  old  enough  to  know  what  I  was  do- 
ing." 

"You  were,  both  of  you,  old  enough  to  know 
better.  But  it's  never  too  late  to  mend.  You've 
given  it  a  very  fair  trial,  I'm  sure,  and  it  hasn't 
worked.  You  can't  pretend  that  you're  content 
— you  can't  pretend  that  he's  content.  He's 
looking  ten  years  older." 

"How  do  /  look?" 

"You'd  look  all  right  if  you  had  a  good  time 
again,"  replied  Mrs.  Waldehast  hesitatingly. 

Betty's  eyes  dilated:  "I  didn't  know  I  had 
changed  so  much  as  that,"  she  said.  "Of  course 
I  know  what  my  frock  is !" 

One  night  she  slept  there.  London  was  de- 
luged under  a  thunderstorm,  and  after  contriv- 
ing to  telephone  to  Keith  and  hear  that  Baby  was 
safe  and  sound,  she  had  consented  to  remain.  It 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  185 

was  delightful  to  be  ministered  to,  to  feel  her  hair 
brushed  by  Dardy's  maid,  and  to  lie  in  luxurious 
contemplation  when  the  maid  had  gone — Betty 
didn't  switch  off  the  light  for  a  long  while  after 
she  was  in  bed.  It  was  delightful,  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  step  through  her  doorway  into  a  white, 
spacious  bathroom,  and  when  she  returned,  to  be 
met  by  a  maid  once  more.  She  went  home  early, 
fearful  lest  the  baby  had  suffered  a  catastrophe 
in  her  absence;  and  the  miniature  flat  in  Tele- 
machus  Mansions  was  fetid  to  her  as  she  entered. 
Though  Mrs.  Waldehast  stayed  in  London  for  a 
fortnight  only,  the  fortnight  was  influential. 

So  far,  Keith  had  managed  either  to  pay  the 
bills  or  to  conceal  from  his  wife  that  he  had  not 
paid  them.  Now  there  came  a  demand  from 
downstairs  which  he  could  hope  to  conceal  for 
no  more  than  twenty-four  hours.  It  blackened 
the  breakfast  table.  He  slipped  the  note  into  his 
pocket,  and  she  had  no  suspicion  of  his  burden  as 
he  went  out;  but  he  went  out  weighted  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  must  find  thirty  pounds,  and 
that  there  were  occasions  when  thirty  pounds 
were  as  difficult  to  find  as  thirty  thousand. 

The  picture  that  he  had  to  sell  was  not  every- 
body's money.  He  was  conscious  of  it  when  he 
started.  He  was  more  conscious  of  it  still  when 
he  drooped  down  the  Haymarket  at  noon.  It 


186  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

was  Wednesday,  and  play-goers  were  already 
beginning  to  assemble  at  the  pit  and  gallery 
doors.  As  he  tramped  from  refusal  to  refusal, 
the  luckless  canvas  grew  as  heavy  as  his  spirit, 
as  heavy  as  his  feet.  If  he  failed,  only  two 
courses  were  open  to  him:  one  was  to  shock 
Betty  by  saying  that  they  must  pawn  her  en- 
gagement ring;  the  other  was  to  humiliate  him- 
self to  Sir  Percival  and  beg  for  a  loan.  Of  the 
two,  the  less  execrable  was  to  face  the  knight,  but 
he  shrank  from  contemplating  either. 

At  four  o'clock  he  was  back  in  Pall  Mall.  He 
stood  among  the  sauntering  clubmen  and  the 
carriages,  the  canvas  still  under  his  arm.  As  a 
last  hope,  the  Six  Bells  at  Chelsea!  Many  a  pic- 
ture had  changed  hands  there  for  a  much  larger 
sum  than  he  was  asking.  Chelsea  was  distant, 
but  he  would  have  travelled  farther  for  a  chance 
to-day. 

His  arrival  there  was  ill-timed.  Of  the  men 
who  painted  and  the  men  who  bought  none  was 
to  be  seen.  The  billiard-room  showed  only 
strangers;  the  bowling-green  was  as  fruitless  as 
the  transplanted  mulberry-tree.  Upstairs,  he 
heard,  there  was  no  one  but  a  pilgrim,  who  had 
entered  to  walk  in  Whistler's  footsteps  and  con- 
template Carlyle's  chair.  "There  have  been 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  187 

plenty  of  the  people  in,"  said  the  proprietor 
sympathetically,  "but  they've  all  gone  now." 

It  must  be  the  loan,  then ! 

From  Chelsea  to  the  City.  He  kept  glancing 
at  his  watch,  fearful  that  he  might  not  reach  the 
office  before  his  uncle  left. 

And  he  was  just  too  late.  His  application 
would  have  to  be  made  at  the  house!  This  was 
even  more  abhorrent;  but  anything  was  prefer- 
able to  Betty's  alarm. 

From  the  City  to  Clapham  Park.  On  the 
journey,  he  tried  to  fan  faith  by  remembering 
that  the  application  would  be  his  first,  and  that 
his  indigence  was  but  temporary. 

Never  till  now  had  there  seemed  to  be  so  many 
stations  on  the  route,  and  never  before  had 
King's  Avenue  seemed  quite  so  long.  There  was 
small-talk  to  be  endured  before  he  could  seize 
an  opportunity.  "Would  his  uncle  lend  him 
thirty  pounds  ?  His  need  was  very  pressing,  and 
the  sum  should  be  repaid  in  a  month  or  two." 

The  knight  refused  with  such  blandness  that 
his  refusal  appeared  to  ask  for  gratitude.  "The 
calls  upon  him  lately  had  been  so  numerous  that 
they  prevented  his  acceding,  but  affection  urged 
him  to  point  a  moral:  Richard  should  apply  to 
his  father-in-law.  Rightly  regarded,  his  em- 
barrassment was  a  blessing  in  disguise,  for  it 


188  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

indicated  the  path  of  duty.  To  advance  the 
money  would,  indeed,  be  a  false  kindness  to  him. 
However!  .  .  .  He  would  stay  to  dinner?  Well, 
at  least,  he  would  have  a  glass  of  sherry?" 

Keith  declined  both  invitations,  and  King's 
Avenue  was  no  shorter  as  he  tramped  back.  He 
reached  the  flat  very  late,  and  Betty  had  already 
dined. 

"I've  been  wondering  where  you  were,"  she 
said.  "What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"I  had  to  go  out  to  Clapham  Park.  How's  the 
baby?" 

"Baby's  all  right.  What  did  you  have  to  go 
to  Clapham  Park  for?" 

"There  was  something  I  wanted  to  see  Sir 
[Percival  about." 

"I  wish  I  had  known  you  were  going;  I  waited 
for  you  for  nearly  an  hour." 

"I'm  sorry;  I  didn't  know,  myself,"  said 
Keith. 

She  asked  no  further  question,  and  he  rang  the 
bell,  and  had  a  stubborn  drumstick  of  a  fowl  and 
a  strong  whisky-and-soda.  Half  an  hour  passed 
before  he  explained  matters. 

"Oh,"  he  began,  "there's  a  bill  owing  here  for 
rather  a  lot;  I'm  short  of  about  thirty  pounds. 
It  has  got  to  be  paid  to-morrow.  It's  an  awful 
nuisance,  but  if  you  can  spare  your  ring  for  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  189 

month  or  so,  it'll  get  us  out  of  the  hole.  It's  the 
only  plan  I  can  think  of,  or  you  may  be  sure  I 
shouldn't  suggest  it." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Betty  faintly,  Vof  course!" 
"It's  an  awful  nuisance,"  he  repeated.     "The 
gallant  knight  wasn't  any  use;  I  might  have 
known  he  wouldn't  be." 

"Is  that  what  you  went  to  Clapham  about?" 
"Yes;  I  thought  it  was  just  worth  trying." 
"Hadn't  you  thought  of  the  ring  then?" 
"I  had  thought  of  it,  but  the  idea  didn't  at- 
tract me." 

"Surely  it  was  better  to  take  the  ring  than  go 
humbling  yourself  to  relations?" 

"I  don't  know,"  sighed  Keith;  "it  was  your 
engagement  ring  —  engagement  rings  seem 
sacred.  Besides,  I  didn't  want  you  to  know  we 
were  so  hard  up.  You're  a  trump  to  put  such  a 
good  face  on  it,  but  of  course  I  understand.  We 
shall  worry  through  all  right,  little  woman — 
don't  picture  us  singing  in  the  streets!" 

She  replied  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  and  for 
some  seconds  he  smoked  in  silence. 

"Suppose,"  she  said  feebly,  "we  don't  worry 
through  all  right?  What  then?" 

"'Sufficient  for  the  day '!" 

"This  won't  do  much  good.  How  long  will  it 
be  before  the  next  bill  comes  up?" 


190  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Well,  they  come  up  every  week,  don't  they? 
But  we  can  let  them  run  for  a  bit  again ;  I  don't 
suppose  we're  the  only  people  in  the  place  who 
don't  pay  regularly.  The  rent  is  the  chief 

bother.  If  that  old  humbug But  what's  the 

good  of  talking!" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Say?  He  said  there  were  'many  calls  upon 
him' — the  house  won't  see  any  more  from  me! 
It  was  a  'blessing  in  disguise'  to  be  dunned,  ac- 
cording to  him." 

"How?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  he  advised  me  to  turn  to  your 
father.  He  knew  I  shouldn't,  but  it  was  a  good 
way  out." 

"His  behaviour  to  you  would  be  very  different 
if  you  ever  did,"  she  said  tentatively;  "eh?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  would,"  said  Keith. 

"It'd  be  'my  dear  nephew,  Lynch's  son-in- 
law.'  " 

"I  daresay."    His  tone  dismissed  the  subject. 

There  was  another  pause — and  her  voice  was 
abrupt:  "Do  you  ever  think  of  it,  Dick?" 

"Do  I  ever  think  of  it?"  He  turned  white. 
"Good  Heavens,  haven't  we  done  with  that?" 
She  didn't  answer.  "You're  not  thinking  of  it, 
are  you?"  he  faltered. 

"It's  getting  worse  and  worse  with  us,  that's 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  191 

all.  The  money  is  there  if  you  like  to  take  it. 
It'd  make  my  father  very  happy,  and — and 
everybody  else." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  me  too,"  she  owned.  "It's  no  use  our 
fooling  ourselves — it  can't  go  on  much  longer." 

"What  can't?" 

"This  life  we're  leading.  We've  given  it  a 
very  fair  trial — you  don't  say  it's  a  success,  do 
you?" 

"No,"  said  Keith,  staring  at  her;  "no,  it's  not 
a  success;  I'm  obliged  to  pawn  your  engagement 
ring,  so  you  ask  me  to  sell  my  conscience." 

"Oh,  the  ring,"  she  burst  out  passionately, 
"the  ring  is  only  one  thing  more!  It's  petty  and 
mean  of  you  to  pretend  that  you  think  it's  be- 
cause of  the  ring.  It  was  bound  to  come,  any- 
how, sooner  or  later." 

"It's  as  well  that  it's  sooner,  then,"  he  said 
sternly. 

"So  I  think.  I'm  sorry  it  wasn't  sooner  still; 
I'm  sorry  I  submitted  so  long.  He's  my  father, 
and  your  attitude  is  an  insult  to  him." 

"Let's  be  truthful,"  said  Keith.  "Your  affec- 
tion for  your  father  isn't  very  great;  you're  not 
complaining  'of  any  insult  to  your  father — you're 
complaining  of  your  own  hardships." 

"Yes,  I'm  complaining  of  my  own  hardships, 


192  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

and  my  child's!  I  don't  choose  to  have  him 
brought  up  in  beggary." 

"And  I  don't  choose  to  have  him  brought  up 
in  dishonour.  Oh,  don't  let's  have  another  row! 
Every  artist  has  his  ups  and  downs;  if  you're 
patient,  we  shall  be  all  right  yet.  There  was  no 
mistake  about  it  before  we  married;  you  knew 
what  it  meant — and  you  told  me  I  was  justified. 
Don't  eat  your  own  words;  don't  ask  me  to  eat 
mine."  His  tone  softened.  "Won't  you  be 
brave,  kiddy,  and  see  it  out?" 

"You  don't  understand,"  she  sobbed.  "I  want 
to  be  good,  I  do  want  to  be  good,  but  it's  so 
hard.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  me  here — 
the  awfulness  of  it.  I  know  what  I  said,  and 
I've  tried.  I  have  tried!  But  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer,  I  can't!" 

Keith  sat  down  helplessly.  "Yes,  I  under- 
stand. I  don't  reproach  you — I  was  cruel  to  re- 
proach you.  I  suppose  it's  natural  that  you  can't 
bear  it." 

"I've  done  my  best.  No  girl  ever  meant  bet- 
ter than  I  did.  But  it  has  gone  on  so  long." 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  make  a  fortune  in  a 
year  and  a  half?" 

"No,  but-     -  Oh,  I  don't  know!" 

"Tell  me,"  he  urged. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  193 

"I  don't  know.  I  suppose  I  thought  it  would 
end  the  other  way." 

"I  made  my  refusal  very  clear,  didn't  I?" 

"I  didn't  know  you'd  refuse  for  ever." 

Keith  raised  his  head.  "You  hoped  to  talk 
me  round?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"I — I  thought  that  you  might  change  your 
mind." 

"Oh!"  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Talk  straight! 
,You  married,  meaning  to  persuade  me?  When 
you  said  that  you  felt  I  was  right,  that  you'd 
give  the  money  up,  that  you  were  ready  to  face 
life  with  me,  it  was  all  a  trick?" 

"Xo,  it  was  real,  I  meant  it!  It  was  after- 
wards I  thought  you  might  give  in — only  after- 
wards." 

He  groaned.  "What  does  it  matter?  You 
agreed  to  marry  me,  and  you  wish  you  hadn't — 
that's  what  it  amounts  to !  I'm  not  blaming  you 
• — of  course  it  was  preposterous,  everyone  said  it 
was  preposterous.  /  was  the  only  fool  who  be- 
lieved in  it.  ...  So  you've  been  miserable  all 
the  time?  Well,  what's  to  be  done?" 

"If  you'd  only  let  me  write  to  him,  we  might 
be  as  happy  as  we  were  at  the  beginning.  You 
know  we've  been  drifting  apart.  All  our  troubles, 
our  quarrels,  have  come  from  our  poverty — it 
isn't  you  and  I  that  have  changed  to  each  other, 


194  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

really;  it's  the  squalor  that's  crushing  our  love. 
I  do  want  to  be  good,  I  swear  I  do;  but  my 
sacrifice  isn't  helping  anybody,  nobody  is  any 
better  off  for  it.  If  I  knew  that  thousands  of 
people  in  the  world,  or  even  a  few,  were  happier 
for  what  I'm  suffering,  it'd  be  easier  to  bear,  I'd 
see  something  in  return.  But  I  can't  suffer  for 
a  theory;  it  isn't  fair  to  ask  it  of  me." 

"Well,  what's  to  be  done?"  he  said  again. 
"What  you  propose  is  impossible." 

"You  won't  let  him  help  us?" 

"No.  I  don't  want  to  be  harsh — I'm  too  sorry 
for  you,  I  feel  too  guilty  for  having  married  you 
— but  you  and  I  can't  live  on  the  money,  Betty. 
Put  that  thought  aside  at  last,  for  the  thing  will 
never  happen." 

"I  won't  go  on  as  we  are!"  she  cried;  "I  won't 
go  through  any  more  scenes  like  this.  It  has  got 
to  be  altered  now — somehow!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'somehow'?"  he  ques- 
tioned slowly.  .  .  .  "Do  you  mean  you  want  to 
leave  me?" 

"You  will  make  me  do  it;  I  have  told  you  just 
how  I  feel,  I  have  told  you  that  I  can't  endure 
any  more.  You  must  choose  between  your  pride 
and  me." 

"And,  after  all  that  has  been  said,  from  first 
to  last,  do  you  really  imagine  we  should  be  any 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  195 

happier  together  on  his  money?  You  must 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it  would  only  make  the 
breach  between  us  wider." 

"Well!"    The  shrug  was  reckless. 

"Well,  you  must  do  as  you  please!"  said  he. 

"You  choose  your  pride?" 

"Oh,  we  won't  haggle  about  words,"  he  said 
wearily;  "call  it  'pride'  if  you  like.  I've  done  all 
I  could  to  make  you  happy,  God  knows !  But  I 
did  you  a  wrong  in  marrying  you.  I  understand. 
I  understand  your  point  of  view  much  better 
than  you  understand  mine.  If  you  want  to  go, 
you  must  go.  But  what  about  the  baby?" 

"Baby?"    Her  gesture  proclaimed. 

"Xo,"  said  Keith;  "you  mustn't  do  that!" 

"What?  Do  you  think  I'd  leave  him?"  she 
gasped. 

"He's  my  child  too — you've  no  right  to  take 
away  my  child." 

"I'm  his  mother;  I'm  thinking  of  him  as  much 
as  of  myself,  and  more.  Is  it  likely  I'd  go  with- 
out him?  For  me  to  live  in  luxury,  and  leave 
my  baby  here  ?  You  must  be  crazy.  I  wouldn't 
do  it  for  anything  in  the  world!" 

"Well,  you  see,  I'm  fond  of  him,  and  I  don't 
mean  to  part  with  him,  either.  That  I'm  too 
hard  up  to  content  my  wife  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  lose  my  son." 


196  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"It's  a  queer  kind  of  love  you  have  for  him," 
she  retorted.  "You  don't  mind  risking  his 
health  in  there,  you  don't  mind  ruining  his 
future !  He  might  be  brought  up  like  a  prince — 
and  you  'love'  him  so  much  that  you're  spoiling 
his  poor  little  life  for  the  sake  of  your  fads!" 

"I  don't  think  he  will  ever  tell  me  I've  spoilt 
it,"  said  Keith  shakily.  "With  my  consent,  he 
shall  never  owe  a  single  advantage  to  your  fa- 
ther's millions,  as  a  child  or  as  a  man.  And  when 
he's  old  enough  to  judge,  I  hope  he'll  thank  me 
for  having  kept  his  life  clean." 

"You  hope  he  won't  be  like  his  mother,  don't 
you?  I  hate  you!  I  can't  drag  him  from  you, 
so  I'll  have  to  stay,  but  I  hate  you!  Even  if  I 
have  to  starve  with  him,  I'll  stay.  He's  mine !" 

"Good-night,"  said  Keith.  "I  shall  sleep  at 
the  studio." 

He  went  to  the  bedroom,  and  threw  some 
things  into  a  bag.  When  he  was  on  the  stairs, 
he  remembered  the  ring,  and  hesitated.  But  no, 
he  could  send  for  it  in  the  morning!  Almost  at 
the  same  moment,  he  heard  her  calling. 

"Here's  the  ring,"  she  muttered,  as  he  lagged 
back.  She  dropped  it  in  his  hand,  and  he  was 
forced  to  pocket  it — and  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
whipped  across  the  face. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  last  time  he  had  awakened  in  this  room 
was  on  his  wedding  day.  This  morning  he  woke 
to  the  knowledge  that  his  wife  remained  with  him 
because  she  would  not  leave  her  child.  He  him- 
self counted  for  nothing  in  her  life ;  she  had  pro- 
posed to  desert  him,  only  the  child  prevented  her! 
What  did  the  future  promise? 

He  slunk  to  the  private  office  of  a  pawn- 
broker's as  soon  as  the  shops  opened,  and  was  dis- 
mayed by  the  latest  example  of  the  difference  be- 
tween the  purchasing  price  and  the  pledging 
value;  he  was  offered  no  more  than  twenty-five 
pounds. 

"Twenty-five  is  no  good,"  he  said;  "lend  me 
the  rest  on  my  watch,  then!" 

The  elegant  assistant  retired  again,  and  Keith 
sketched  a  profile  absently  on  the  blotting-pad 
till  he  came  back. 

"Three  pounds  ten,"  he  announced,  "is  the  best 
we  can  do." 

"I  always  did  get  a  fiver,"  said  the  artist 
reminiscently. 

197 


198  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Watches,"  explained  the  assistant,  "have 
come  down  so!" 

"Well,  I'll  put  the  chain  in  too,"  said  Keith, 
and  the  young  man  quitted  the  room  once  more. 

He  was  still  unsatisfactory  on  his  return. 

"Twenty-five  shillings,"  he  said. 

"How  much  is  that  altogether?" 

A  rapid  pen  showed  the  total  to  be  £29  15s. 

Keith  felt  in  all  his  pockets,  and  brought  forth 
a  gold  pencil-case,  given  to  him  by  Betty,  and 
a  silver  match-box.  "I'll  have  a  match  out,  I 
want  to  light  a  cigarette,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
see  if  I  can  have  the  other  five  bob  on  those?" 

At  last  the  total  was  correct,  and  he  took  a 
cheque  to  Telemachus  Mansions  within  an  hour. 
But  he  did  not  go  up  to  the  flat.  He  went  away, 
questioning  what  he  was  to  do  for  money  pending 
the  sale  of  work.  He  had  to  pay  in  the  thirty 
pounds  at  the  bank  before  the  cheque — an  open 
one — was  presented,  and  suddenly  he  wondered 
if  he  was  the  sort  of  client  who  was  allowed  to 
overdraw  his  account.  The  manager's  comments 
on  the  weather  had  always  been  genial  across 
the  counter;  he  had  even  offered  criticisms  of 
the  Academy,  mistaken,  but  well-meant.  Wild 
though  the  attempt  might  be,  it  would  cost  noth- 
ing! 

Mr.  Adams  was  engaged  at  present,  and  con- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  199 

fidence  shrank  under  delay.  It  was  also  em- 
barrassing to  the  novice  to  feel  that  his  business 
was  divined  by  the  clerk  behind  the  counter. 
Presently  the  brass  door-knob  turned,  and  the 
manager's  white  head  bowed  a  lady  out.  "I'm 
very  sorry,"  he  was  murmuring.  It  sounded 
ominous. 

Keith  shook  hands  with  him,  and  sat  down  in 
the  chair  that  the  lady  had  vacated. 

"I  want  to  know  if  I  may  overdraw,"  he 
blurted. 

The  manager  smiled.    Hope  leapt  high. 

"Oh,  I  daresay,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you'll 
soon  be  doing  something  with  a  picture,  Mr. 
Keith?" 

"I  may  sell  something  any  day." 

"Oh  yes,  I  daresay  we  can  manage  that  for 
you.  Up  to  what  amount  do  you " 

"About  fifty."    His  heart  stood  still. 

Mr.  Adams  showed  no  disapproval.  "Excuse 
me  just  for  a  moment,"  he  said. 

This  was  too  sunny  to  last — he  would  come 
back  to  say  he  couldn't  do  it !  Well,  keep  repeat- 
ing that  it  would  have  cost  nothing! 

"That  will  be  all  right,  Mr.  Keith,"  said  the 
manager  musically. 

"If  you've  been  looking  at  my  account,  I  may 


200  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

tell  you  I've  just  given  a  cheque  that'll  wipe  it 
clean  out." 

Mr.  Adams'  nods  were  assuring. 

"I'm  tremendously  obliged!"  exclaimed  Keith, 
taking  up  his  hat. 

"I'm  glad  we  can  convenience  you.  I  only  wish 
everybody  would  cut  it  just  as  short.  I  always 
know  what  they're  going  to  say,  but  most  people 
make  me  wait  such  a  long  time  before  they  come 
to  the  point." 

It  was  amazing,  but  it  had  happened.  A 
minute  later  Keith  trod  the  street  with  his  mone- 
tary care  banished.  He  wished  fervently  that 
this  idea  had  occurred  to  him  before  he  asked 
Betty  for  the  ring.  His  impulse  was  to  redeem 
it  at  once,  but  if  he  did  so,  he  might  have  to  ask 
her  for  it  again.  The  reflection  determined  him 
to  leave  it  where  it  was  till  he  received  a  sub- 
stantial payment.  A  bank  was  certainly  a  great 
institution;  how  much  more  complacent  than  a 
pawnbroker's!  While  there  were  banks,  there 
seemed  no  reason  why  he  should  ever  be  hard  up. 

Yes,  though  the  power  of  fifty  pounds  would 
be  brief,  his  monetary  care  was  banished;  many 
an  affliction  carries  an  advantage,  even  the 
artistic  temperament.  But  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment could  not  lighten  the  domestic  trouble.  He 
went  home  to  dinner  reluctantly.  Would  she 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  201 

recur  to  the  subject,  or  were  they  to  dine  in 
silence,  or  was  the  occurrence  to  be  ignored?  He 
decided  to  say,  "Good-evening.  How's  Baby?" 
and  await  results. 

"Good-evening,"  he  said.     "How's  Baby?" 

She  had  been  reproaching  herself  for  the  "I 
hate  you"  all  day,  and  she  did  her  best  to  answer 
as  usual.  Keith,  in  his  turn,  rejoined  as  cor- 
dially as  indignation  permitted.  In  the  heart  of 
each  was  a  hot  grievance  against  the  other,  and 
the  mutual  sham  was  no  triumph  of  histrionic 
art. 

"Anybody  been?"  he  inquired,  with  an  effort. 

"Mrs.  Premlow  came  in  this  afternoon,"  she 
said. 

"Oh?    What  has  she  got  to  say?" 

"Nothing  particular.  She  says  her  husband 
is  very  pleased  with  some  picture  he's  doing." 

"I've  seen  it;  the  thing  shrieks,"  said  Keith. 
"Is  that  all?  Have  you  been  out?" 

"I  changed  my  book." 

"What  did  you  get?" 

"I  got  Wynne's  new  one.  It's  very  good  as 
far  as  I've  gone."  She  picked  it  up  and  ruffled 
the  pages. 

At  dinner  it  was  no  livelier. 

As  the  hours  ticked  by,  the  tension  increased. 
Both  were  reading,  but  both  questioned  what  was 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

to  be  done  when  he  rose  to  leave  again.  The 
man  wondered  whether  she  would  hint  to  him 
that  he  wasn't  to  go.  The  woman  wondered 
whether  he  would  hint  to  her  that  he  wished  to 
stay. 

With  equal  aversion,  they  foresaw  the  awk- 
wardness of  the  climax.  At  a  quarter  to  eleven 
Keith  told  himself  that  he  would  rise  at  eleven 
o'clock;  but  when  the  signal  struck,  he  still 
faltered.  Over  the  top  of  her  novel,  Betty  was 
relieved  to  see  him  fill  another  pipe. 

Now  it  was  a  quarter  past  eleven.  It  was  half- 
past.  The  postponement  was  becoming  ridicul- 
ous. He  got  up  abruptly.  "Well,  good-night!" 
he  said,  scarcely  glancing  at  her. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  just  turning  her  head. 

So  the  custom  was  established. 

Neither  regretted  it.  Very  soon  the  "good- 
night" held  less  awkwardness  than  the  "good- 
evening."  He  never  forgot  that  he  would  not 
have  found  her  sitting  there  but  for  the  child  in 
the  third  room.  She  never  forgot  that  her  child 
was  condemned  to  the  third  room  by  her  hus- 
band's obstinacy.  Every  evening  Keith  asked, 
"How's  the  baby?"  and  heard  that  he  was  well, 
and  stole  in  to  view  him  sleeping.  Every  even- 
ing he  stood  by  the  cot  for  a  minute,  in  the  nurse's 
presence,  like  a  visitor. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  203 

When  a  fortnight  had  passed,  he  received  a 
different  answer  to  his  question.  "Baby  has  a 
cold."  Even  affection  found  nothing  portentous 
in  it.  This  was  on  Tuesday. 

On  Friday,  when  he  returned,  Betty  met  him 
with  a  blanched  face,  and  the  baby  was  awake. 

"He  seems  very  feverish  and  restless;  I've 
sent  for  a  doctor!" 

None  but  the  parents  of  an  only  child  know 
what  terror  can  grip  the  heart  when  "Baby  seems 
very  feverish."  Suddenly  the  capable  nurse  ap- 
peared a  pillar  of  strength  to  Keith ;  his  eyes  be- 
sieged her  with  inquiries. 

"I  don't  think  there's  anything  to  be  upset 
about,  sir,"  she  said.  "But  Mrs.  Keith'll  feel 
easier  in  her  mind  when  the  doctor's  been." 

"What  man  did  you  send  for?  Who  recom- 
mended him?  Did  you  say  he  was  wanted  at 
once?"  Half  a  dozen  questions  leapt  from  his 
alarm. 

The  doctor  was  long  in  coming,  and  his  un- 
concerned demeanour  was  affronting  when  he 
came;  to  him  such  urgent  messages  were  all  in 
the  day's  routine.  A  medical  man  divides  symp- 
toms into  the  objective  and  subjective — those 
that  he  sees  for  himself,  and  those  that  his 
patients  tell  him.  And  the  latter  he  subdivides 
into  the  Real  and  the  Imaginary. 


204  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

But  when  he  made  his  examination  of  the 
child's  chest,  Dr.  Griffiths  was  graver.  The 
respiration  was  hurried,  and  caused  pain,  and  the 
temperature  was  high.  He  admitted  that  the 
case  was  critical.  Forced  to  put  a  name  to  it, 
he  spoke  of  pleuro-pneumonia. 

"I'd  like  you  to  bring  a  physician,"  gasped 
Betty,  as  the  word's  left  his  lips. 

He  was  surprised.  His  practice  did  not  lie 
among  people  who  suggested  consultations  so 
swiftly.  He  promised  himself  a  half -guinea  a 
visit  instead  of  three  and  sixpence.  Inhuman? 
No,  human — he  also  had  a  homeful  of  anxieties. 

"Sir  Edward  Cooper  is  as  good  a  man  as  you 
could  have,"  he  said. 

Sir  Edward  Cooper  came  on  the  morrow,  and 
Keith  was  there  to  receive  him.  The  distin- 
guished person  only  corroborated  the  struggling 
man's  opinion,  and  made  a  perfunctory  altera- 
tion in  his  treatment;  but  he  was  cheap  at  the 
three  guineas,  for  both  the  father  and  the  mother 
felt  encouraged  when  he  had  been.  It  is  among 
the  general  practitioner's  pains  and  penalties  to 
see  these  things;  a  visit  from  a  title  always  im- 
proves the  condition  of  the  patient's  friends. 

But  no  improvement  was  to  be  noted  in  the 
baby  during  the  next  two  days,  though,  at 
Betty's  request,  the  visit  was  repeated.  Keith 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  205 

left  the  flat  very  late  now,  and  was  there  again 
before  breakfast.  He  spent  the  days  pacing  the 
sitting-room  and  tiptoeing  to  the  nursery  for  re- 
ports. Betty,  hollow-eyed  for  lack  of  sleep,  was 
no  comrade  in  the  crisis.  The  cold  from  which 
the  illness  had  developed  was  attributed  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  difficult  to  ventilate  the  nursery 
without  exposing  the  child  to  a  draught.  The 
thought  seethed  in  her:  If  Baby  were  to  die! 
She  was  sorry  for  Keith's  trouble,  she  spoke 
every  word  that  was  true  to  sustain  his  hope,  but 
she  blamed  him  furiously.  The  mutual  grief  did 
nothing  to  draw  them  to  each  other's  arms. 

No,  the  husband  and  wife  did  not  kiss  again 
with  tears.  She  who  became  strangely  devoted 
was  the  domineering  nurse.  She  had  a  nature 
that  put  forth  its  flowers  in  shadow.  The  arbi- 
trary snob,  who  had  hitherto  found  nothing  good 
enough,  was  now  a  self-abnegating  soul  who 
found  nothing  too  bad.  Untiring,  unselfish,  she 
bloomed  with  new  virtues  hourly.  Finally,  her 
tone  was  even  gentle  to  the  waiters. 

On  the  third  morning,  when  Keith  arrived  he 
heard  in  the  hall  that  Dr.  Griffiths  had  been  sent 
for  in  haste,  and  was  still  upstairs.  The  lift-lad 
was  not  in  attendance  yet;  Keith  reached  the 
flat  breathless. 


206  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Betty  and  the  doctor  were  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"What's  happened?" 

"He's  worse.  Dr.  Griffiths  has  just  seen 
him." 

"The  breathing  is  very  oppressed,"  explained 
the  doctor;  "I'm  sorry  to  say  there  has  been 
further  effusion  in  the  night." 

"Effusion?"    It  conveyed  nothing. 

"I  was  just  going  to  tell  Mrs.  Keith  that  we 
should  have  to  draw  off  some  of  this  fluid — to  tap 
the  chest,  I  mean.  We  ought  to  have  it  done  as 
soon  as  possible — to-day." 

"An  operation?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  it  dangerous?" 

Dr.  Griffiths  hesitated. 

"I  should  prefer  it  to  be  done  by  a  specialist," 
he  parried. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Keith,  "of  course !" 

"I  want  to  understand,  please,"  panted  Betty. 
"I've  got  to  know  just  what  we're  risking." 

"It  sometimes  causes  syncope." 

"And?"  She  pressed  hard. 

"With  a  skilful " 

"And — death?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  207 

"Who's  the  best  man?"  she  wailed.  "I  want 
the  best!" 

"Wait!"  exclaimed  Keith.  "Before  we  risk  the 
operation,  what's  the  risk  of  not  operating?" 

"You'd  be  taking  a  greater  responsibility  still. 
To  be  candid,  I  must  say  that  such  an  operation 
is  unusual,  and  something  of  a  forlorn  hope.  On 
the  other  hand,  you  can  see,  by  his  dusky  colour 
and  dilated  nostrils,  how  desperately  bad  the 
poor  little  thing  is.  If  nothing  is  done,  your 
child  hasn't  many  hours  to  live." 

"You  won't  mind  my  saying  that  we  must  have 
that  confirmed  before  we  decide?  I'd  like  a  sec- 
ond opinion,  I'd  like  Cooper  to  see  him  again  this 
morning." 

"Certainly." 

"Who's  the  best  man,  doctor?"  she  moaned. 
"Is  there  anyone  that  you  have  absolute  faith 
in?" 

"The  man  to  get,  of  course,  if  you  can  afford 
to  have  him,  is  Mr.  Wimble,  of  Bart's.  He's  ex- 
pensive— and  there's  the  question  if  he  would 
operate  to-day." 

"The  expense  doesn't  matter,"  she  declared. 
Her  eyes  met  Keith's  and  challenged  him. 

"What's  his  fee?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"Wimble  never  operates  under  a  hundred 
guineas." 


208  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Would  the  bank  grant  another  overdraft? 

"I'll  telephone  to  Cooper  now,"  he  stammered. 
His  face  was  ashen.  "I'll  see  if  he  can  come  at 
once." 

Sir  Edward  undertook  to  be  with  them  at  half- 
past  ten,  and  Dr.  Griffiths  arranged  to  return. 
Keith  followed  Betty  to  the  nursery.  Beside  the 
cot  the  nurse  was  crying — he  was  sensible  of  the 
wonder  of  it,  even  in  the  desperation  of  his  strait. 
As  he  watched  the  little  life  labouring  for  breath, 
as  he  suffered  with  it,  as  he  prayed  God  for  it 
to  be  spared,  he  still  heard  the  menace  of  his 
wife's  words:  "The  expense  doesn't  matter." 

The  bank  had  scarcely  opened  when  he  was 
with  the  manager  again.  This  time  there  was 
no  amazement,  the  answer  was  but  what  he  had 
expected  even  while  he  pleaded.  Mr.  Adams 
was  regretful — the  account  did  not  justify  con- 
sent. 

One  hope  remained — Cooper  might  avert  the 
operation. 

Griffiths'  brougham  drew  up  at  the  Mansions 
punctually.  The  physician's  motor  car  heralded 
his  advent  soon  afterwards. 

"The  expense  doesn't  matter!"  Still  Keith 
heard  it,  as  he  waited  for  the  pronouncement. 
It  "didn't  matter"?  No,  not  to  her — to  her 
there  would  be  no  bitterness,  no  shame.  But  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  209 

him!  His  resolve  to  be  cast  aside,  his  vaunt  of 
three  weeks  since  annulled  in  degradation — his 
Son  to  be  saved  by  Lynch's  aid? 

The  men  came  back. 

"Operate.  It'll  ward  off  immediate  danger. 
Wimble,  by  all  means." 

A  hundred  guineas,  or  his  child's  life  —  his 
child's  life,  or  apostasy  to  save  it! 

Apostasy!  And  his  torture  made  no  illusions. 
He  did  not  strive  to  think  that  he  would  yield 
because  the  mother  had  the  right  to  claim  it,  he 
did  not  palter  with  any  subtilties  of  right  and 
wrong — his  breaking  spirit  owned  that  he  would 
yield  because  he  loved  his  boy. 

There  followed  stereotyped  phrases  of  en- 
couragement, an  assurance  that  the  best  arrange- 
ments should  be  made  without  delay.  An 
envelope  was  slipped  into  pearl-grey  gloves. 
The  lift  descended.  The  motor-car  and  brougham 
had  gone. 

She  turned  from  the  window  with  a  slip  of 
paper  in  her  hand. 

"I  suppose  you  know  I'm  going  to  cable  to  my 
father  for  this  money?"  she  said  in  a  hard  voice. 

"Yes." 

"You  can  ask  the  surgeon  to  wait  a  few  hours 
for  his  fee?" 

"Yes." 


210  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Here's  what  I've  written." 

He  read,  "Child  dangerously  ill.  I  want  a 
hundred  guineas  to-day. — BETTY." 

"Will  you  copy  it  on  a  form  when  you  go  out, 
and  send  it  so  that  he  gets  it  about  eight  o'clock 
in  New  York?" 

"Yes." 

He  went  out  and  copied  the  appeal  to  Lynch. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"WELL?" 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  sir!" 

"Successful?" 

"Quite." 

"Thank  Godl"  There  was  something  like  a 
sob  in  his  voice.  "I'm  immensely  grateful  to 
you." 

"The  more  urgent  symptoms  are  much  re- 
lieved, and  he  may  be  as  well  as  ever  in  a  week 
or  two.  Let  us  hope  so.  Keep  him  quiet.  But 
your  excellent  nurse  knows  just  what's  to  be 
done." 

"Have  something  before  you  go !  Dr.  Griffiths, 
a  whisky-and-soda?"  He  spoke  to  Wimble 
apart.  "I've  dated  this  cheque  for  the  day  after 
to-morrow.  You  won't  mind  holding  it  over?" 

"With  pleasure." 

The  tension  was  past.  The  surgeon's  bag  was 
no  longer  an  object  of  terror.  He  and  Griffiths 
were  animated.  Betty  had  shaken  their  hands 
and  was  crying  with  relief.  Then  they  went,  and 
she  gazed  at  Keith,  and  froze.  Her  impulse  had 

211 


212  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

asked  for  him  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  to  echo  her 
joy — and  she  saw  a  grey-faced  man  bowed  with 
humiliation.  She  made  no  allowances.  The 
baby  was  safe,  and  the  father  could  think  only 
of  his  own  defeat!  That  was  how  it  seemed  to 
her,  and  she  felt  him  to  be  egoistic  and  cold. 
Dimly  he  was  conscious  of  his  deficiency  in  her 
eyes — acutely  he  was  conscious  of  his  solitude — 
but  he  had  suffered  too  many  emotions  since 
morning  to  be  able  to  simulate  one  now.  Her 
anguish  during  the  ordeal,  her  prayers,  her 
hysterical  thanksgiving,  all  these  things  he  had 
shared.  But  once  more  he  stood  alone ;  there  was 
none  to  share  the  burden  of  his  self-reproach :  "I 
couldn't  pay  to  save  my  own  child's  life  1" 

Lynch  cabled  five  hundred  pounds.  The  boy's 
condition  improved  daily,  the  nurse  regained  her 
dignified  demeanour,  and  by  Dr.  Griffiths'  ad- 
vice, Betty  decided  to  go  with  them  to  Bourne- 
mouth for  a  month. 

Keith  was  staying  at  home.  Poor  effort  at 
independence!  His  wife  had  written  for  ac- 
commodation at  the  best  hotel;  she  had  bought 
new  clothes  for  the  baby,  and  ordered  new 
costumes  for  herself;  already  she  had  spoken  of 
renting  a  larger  and  expensive  room  in  the 
Mansions  for  a  nursery.  But  he  wasn't  going 
with  her  to  the  seaside! 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

How  could  it  end?  He  put  the  question  to 
himself  hourly  after  the  departure  was  made. 
Night  after  night  he  sat  alone  in  the  flat,  remem- 
bering the  compact  and  viewing  its  collapse.  The 
thing  that  he  had  sworn  should  never  be,  had 
come  to  pass — they  were  being  supported  by 
Lynch's  money!  A  debt  that  might  be  dis- 
charged? To  say  so  would  be  sophistry.  Long 
before  this  sum  could  be  repaid  there  would  be 
another  and  another — and  soon  a  settlement 
offered  and  accepted.  The  man  looked  the 
truth  in  the  eyes.  The  thing  had  come  to  pass! 

What  was  his  duty?  To  forbid?  It  would  be 
idle.  Besides,  had  he  the  right  to  forbid,  after 
what  had  happened?  Hadn't  he  forfeited  the 
right?  She,  at  least,  might  say  so.  To  submit? 
That  would  mean  continuous  ignominy,  as  the 
price  of  holding  his  wife  and  child.  And  his 
child's  recovery  he  owed,  under  Heaven,  to 
Lynch's  purse,  and  his  wife  had  wished  for  a 
separation.  Now,  of  course,  she  might  be  satis- 
fied to  remain,  but  her  victory  made  her  love  no 
deeper. 

Was  it  worth  while  to  sink  to  it  all,  was  it  good 
enough?  He  knew  that  what  he  shrank  from 
most  was,  not  parting  from  the  later  Betty,  but 
from  the  boy ;  it  was  the  boy  that  made  a  coward 
of  him.  But,  again,  was  it  good  enough  ?  Of  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

two  evils,  the  lesser  might  be  the  wrench.  It 
might,  it  would,  be  less  awful  to  lose  at  once  than 
to  lose  by  slow  degrees;  less  bitter  to  resign  his 
claim  than  to  see  his  child  estranged  with  Lynch's 
finery,  bedizened  with  Lynch's  trinkets,  fostered, 
and  pampered,  and  misled  with  Lynch's  wealth. 

And  he  himself  would  have  to  share  it!  The 
chair  that  he  sat  on,  and  the  servant  behind  it, 
and  the  food  that  he  swallowed,  would  be  paid 
for  by  Lynch.  A  daily  degradation.  For  what? 
He  had  meant  to  keep  his  son  unsmirched  by 
guilty  dollars,  and  he  had  failed.  Then  let  the 
mother  take  him,  as  she  had  asked — let  them 
go! 

•  He  did  not  come  to  the  conclusion  in  a  night 
or  in  a  week — or,  more  exactly,  he  came  to  it 
every  night,  and  then  pondered  from  the  start- 
ing-point again.  But  he  came  to  it  at  last  defi- 
nitely, assisted  by  a  letter,  in  which  Betty  alluded 
to  her  return  and  the  necessity  for  the  new  ar- 
rangement. 

"I  am  coming  down  to  see  you,"  he  wrote,  and 
he  went. 

She  was  out  when  he  arrived,  and  he  waited 
for  her  in  her  sitting-room  on  the  first  floor.  He 
noted  the  extravagance  of  flowers,  and  the 
peaches  on  the  sideboard.  Details  as  they  were, 
they  hardened  him  in  his  resolve.  It  hardened 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  215 

him  in  his  resolve  when  she  entered,  careless  and 
fashionable — a  beauty  without  a  scruple,  her  con- 
science asleep  again. 

"You  never  told  me  what  train  you  were  com- 
ing by,  or  I'd  have  been  in,"  she  said.  "Have 
Baby  and  nurse  came  back  yet?" 

"I  haven't  seen  them,"  said  Keith.  "Is  he  quite 
strong  now?" 

"Oh  yes,  he's  splendid." 

She  unpinned  her  hat,  and  put  it  aside;  and 
hummed  a  little,  to  disguise  her  nervousness,  as 
she  drew  off  her  gloves.  The  man  turned  to  the 
window,  and  stood  staring  at  the  sea  before  he 
spoke.  His  opening  sentences  had  evaporated. 

"Betty." 

"Yes?"  She  tried  to  sound  surprised  at  the 
tone. 

"You  remember  what  I  said  before  he  was  ill?" 

"What?" 

"I  had  to  take  it  back;  his  life  was  at  stake — • 
I  sent  that  cable  for  you." 

"You  sent  it  for  yourself  too;  you  love  him, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes.  I  sent  it  for  myself  as  much  as  for  you. 
But  I  only  asked  for  the  surgeon's  fee.  That 
might  have  been  a  loan.  Do  you  think  that  my 
failure,  my  shame — for  I  was  sick  with  shame, 
and  you  knew  it — do  you  think  it  justified  you 


216  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

in  squandering  whatever  your  father  was  willing 
to  send?  Do  you  think  it  justified  you  in  living 
as  you're  living  now — as  you  talk  of  living  when 
you  come  back?  You  know  perfectly  that  if  I 
took  the  room  you  speak  of,  I  couldn't  pay  for 
it.  You  know  our  expenses  are  too  heavy  al- 
ready ;  how  do  you  propose  that  we  should  meet 
more  ?  We  must  understand  each  other ;  I  want 
to  know  if  you're  counting  on  his.  help  for  the 
future?" 

"What  if  I  am?  I  should  have  thought  com- 
mon gratitude  would  have  removed  your  prej- 
udice, after  what  he  has  done." 

"I  expected  you  would  say  that,"  he  said.  "It 
sounds  very  well.  If  you  were  a  fool,  I  might 
even  think  you  were  deceived  by  it.  So  you  are 
counting  on  his  keeping  us?" 

"Haven't  we  had  a  lesson?  didn't  we  nearly 
lose  Baby?"  she  exclaimed.  "If  he  had  had  a 
proper  room,  it'd  never  have  happened!" 

"Who  says  so?" 

"Xurse  says  so.  She  knows  what  she's  talking 
about." 

"And  supposing  you  hadn't  a  rich  father? 
What  would  you  do  then?  Yes,  I  do  love  the 
child  too,  and  his  health's  just  as  much  to  me  as 
it  is  to  you,  and  I'll  make  any  change  for  him  that 
J  can.  But  it  isn't  for  the  child's  health  that 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  217 

you're  spending  twenty  or  thirty  pounds  a  week 
here,  or  wearing  that  dress.  I  say  we've  got 
to  understand  each  other.  I  must  know  what 
you  intend  to  do.  If  you  mean  this  kind  of  thing 
to  go  on,  it  means  the  end  of  our  life  together." 

She  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  her  head  bent. 
"You  haven't  made  it  a  very  happy  life  lately, 
anyhow,  have  you?"  she  muttered. 

"I!  If  a  woman  speaks  to  her  husband  as 
you  spoke  to  me  she  has  either  got  to  tell  him 
she's  sorry,  or  accept  the  situation." 

"A  woman  doesn't  say  she's  sorry  to  a  block 
of  wood,"  said  Betty,  with  dry  lips. 

"And  a  man  doesn't  feel  demonstrative  to- 
wards a  woman  who  only  remains  with  him  be- 
cause she  doesn't  want  to  leave  the  baby.  If  I 
had  agreed  to  let  him  go  with  you,  you  wouldn't 
be  here.  Well,  I  take  back  another  thing:  I  take 
back  my  refusal — if  he's  to  be  brought  up  on 
your  father's  money,  it  shall  be  in  New  York." 

She  faced  him  in  a  flash,  erect  and  white. 

"You'll  never  say  that  to  me  again!" 

"I  ask  you  to  choose." 

"You've  told  me  I  may  go,  and  to  take  him 
with  me.  Very  well.  I'll  do  it!" 

"Oh,  play  straight!"  he  cried.  "The  decision 
rests  with  you,  not  me — don't  let's  have  any  hum- 
bug about  it!  If  you  go,  it's  because  I'm  a  poor 


218  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

man ;  if  you  stay,  you  must  act  fairly  to  me.  IVe 
come  down  to  ask  you  which  it's  to  be." 

"I  am  going." 

"All  right.  I  daresay  your  father  will  be  very 
glad  to  have  you  back.  Perhaps  he'll  be  able  to 
work  a  divorce  for  you — I've  no  doubt  he'll  try. 
.  .  .  That's  all,  then?" 

"That's  all." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  result  was  only 
what  he  had  feared,  but  now  that  it  had  come, 
he  found  himself  unprepared  and  dazed.  His 
feeling  was  not  poignant — he  had  been  much 
more  moved  by  many  a  play;  the  thing  seemed 
unreal — far  more  unreal  than  a  play;  dimly  he 
was  surprised  that  he  didn't  suffer.  It  was 
strange — their  lives  were  dividing,  and  he  felt  no 
pain ;  there  was  none  of  the  chokiness,  the  protest 
that  he  had  known  in  anticipation.  He  was  liv- 
ing the  scene  apathetically,  as  he  might  have  lived 
it  in  a  dream. 

In  her,  emotions  clashed  and  sobbed — misery, 
and  indignation,  and  self -contempt.  If  he  had 
thrown  his  arms  round  her,  she  knew  that  she 
would  have  wept  her  heart  out  and  promised  all 
he  asked — and  simultaneously  she  wondered 
whether  she  could  have  kept  her  word. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir!"     The  nurse 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  219 

came  in,  carrying  the  child.  "I  didn't  know  you 
were  here." 

"Good-afternoon,"  he  said.  "Well,  Baby?" 
He  touched  a  cheek  gently.  "Are  you  coming  to 
me?" 

"Has  he  had  a  nice  time,  nurse?"  asked  Betty, 
her  face  averted. 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am.  He  had  a  little  sleep,  too, 
while  he  was  out.  Didn't  he,  a  pet?" 

"Are  you  coming  to  me?"  repeated  Keith. 
"Your  father  has  to  go  to  town  again  at  once." 

He  held  the  child,  and  kissed  him.  His  son 
had  scrambled  and  leapt  to  reach  his  arms  a  hun- 
dred times,  and  gurgled  with  satisfaction  when 
there ;  but  to-day  there  was  a  wail  to  be  set  free. 
Perhaps  the  kiss  had  been  too  hard.  Trivial 
as  it  was,  the  wail  distressed  the  man.  He  gave 
him  back  to  the  nurse,  abashed. 

"Well — "  he  picked  up  his  hat,  and  glanced 
towards  Betty;  "if  I  hurry,  I  shall  just  manage 
to  catch  that  train,"  he  said,  with  laboured  care- 
lessness. "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered. 

In  the  mirror,  she  watched  him  open  the  door. 
The  door  shut. 

"I  don't  know  why  Baby  should  cry  for  once 
when  his  father  kisses  him!"  she  gasped  resent- 
fully. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

EVERY  day  now,  as  she  watched  the  Channel 
curling  on  the  shore,  she  thought  of  the  Atlantic, 
that  was  so  sadly  wide.  "I  am  going  to  New 
York,  on  a  visit  to  my  father ;  I  should  like  you 
to  go  with  me,"  she  had  told  the  nurse;  and 
though  nurse  was  frankly  appalled  by  the  casual 
mention  of  such  an  undertaking,  she  had,  after 
consideration,  assented.  And  not  altogether  un- 
graciously. 

So  there  was  nothing  to  cause  delay,  nothing 
to  prevent  the  passages  being  booked  at  once, 

excepting What?  Betty  asked  herself  why 

she  hesitated,  and  shirked  the  answer.  From 
Keith  she  expected  to  hear  no  more.  Now,  at 
last,  she  realised  fully  that  she  could  never  com- 
promise between  him  and  wealth.  And  she  had 
made  her  choice,  and  she  had  been  given  the  boy. 
Then  why  did  she  wait?  She  said  finally  that 
she  waited  because  she  was  a  coward,  too  weak 
to  take  a  decisive  step.  For  shame!  Her  chin 
disdained  her  tears.  Impulse  lost  patience  with 
such  folly. 

220 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  221 

She  wished  that  Lynch  were  in  Europe.  The 
disorder  of  the  docks,  the  farewells  among 
strangers,  the  nurse's  protesting  eyebrows,  all 
added  pangs  to  her  loneliness.  And  there  was 
no  exhilaration  in  her  mood  afterwards,  when 
her  nervousness  for  the  boy  was  past,  and  she  sat 
in  her  deck-chair,  gazing  at  the  desolate  sea.  She 
thought  of  the  last  time  that  she  had  been  on  an 
Atlantic  liner.  Almost  all  that  mattered  in  her 
life  seemed  to  have  happened  since  then!  Did 
it  seem  ages  back,  that  emotional  trip,  or  not  so 
long  ago  as  it  was?  Both,  alternately.  She  re- 
called the  conferences  with  Dardy,  their  scheme 
to  get  her  own  way.  Reviewing  those  days,  the 
girl  that  she  had  been  looked  strange  to  her;  she 
had  not  recognised  till  now  that  she  had  altered 
so  much. 

Her  mind  dwelt  on  the  evening  when  she 
promised  to  marry.  Common  sense  would  have 
declared  that  it  must  be  painful  to  think  of  that 
now,  but  it  was  sweet;  she  thought  of  it  more 
often  than  of  any  later  occurrence.  How  pretty 
it  had  been!  Dardy  had  once  said,  "There's  a 
bad  fairy  that  flies  away  with  our  bridegrooms 
while  we're  dreaming  on  the  honeymoon — and 
when  we  wake,  we  just  find  husbands  in  their 
place."  Yes,  Richard  had  altered  too  since  their 
marriage!  If  he  had  remained  the  same— 


222  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Time  was  a  brutal  thing,  a  "cynic,"  her  father 
had  called  it !  If  Richard  had  remained  the  same, 
she  could  have  kept  her  word  to  him — perhaps. 
It  wouldn't  have  seemed  so  hard  if  he  had  re- 
mained her  bridegroom.  Still Oh,  after  all, 

she  didn't  know  that  she  blamed  him — or  herself. 
It  was  the  sin  of  circumstances ;  the  circumstances 
had  been  cruel. 

The  voyage  was  long,  though  she  felt  no  im- 
patience to  arrive.  Society  worried  her.  The 
women  who  talked  to  her  struck  her  as  vapid, 
after  women  who  had  professions,  or  took  an  in- 
terest in  the  professions  of  their  husbands.  She 
observed  newly  that  the  ordinary  woman's  inter- 
est in  her  husband's  calling  was  limited  to  its 
financial  results.  She  did  not  want  to  chatter 
inanities,  or  to  play  games.  When  the  child 
wasn't  with  her,  she  protected  herself  for  the  most 
part  with  a  book,  of  which  she  read  but  little. 
On  the  third  afternoon,  the  lady-killer  among  the 
passengers  attempted  to  storm  the  fortress — and 
for  the  rest  of  the  trip,  he  disappeared  into  the 
smoking-room  when  she  came  on  deck.  One  eve- 
ning at  dinner  she  asked  the  captain  "how  far 
they  had  come  from  home,"  and  she  only  noticed 
afterwards  that  she  had  said  "home,"  instead  of 
"England." 

She  rose  without  eagerness  on  the  morning 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

that  they  were  to  land.  America  was  near ;  field 
glasses  were  numerous.  Everybody  else  was  ex- 
cited. Americans  saw  the  dear  ground  of  their 
birth,  or  their  adoption,  again;  foreigners  saw 
the  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  of  their  expectations. 

Lynch  flung  his  arms  about  her  with  a  sob,  and 
hugged  her  before  the  world ;  and  she  drooped  to 
him,  and  reproached  herself  for  not  being  glad 
enough  to  see  him.  Sayings  that  she  had  paid 
small  heed  to  when  they  were  uttered  had 
crowded  back  to  haunt  her,  and  she  thought  guilt- 
ily of  her  husband's  comment,  "Your  affection 
for  your  father  isn't  very  great."  He  was  cry- 
ing, unashamed,  and  for  the  first  time  she  knew 
it  was  pathetic  that,  worthily  or  unworthily,  the 
love  of  an  adult  is  given  and  cannot  be  earned. 

"Oh,  honey,  it's  good  to  look  at  you!"  he  re- 
iterated. "Is  that  the  baby?  Scott,  my  girl's 
baby!  How  are  you,  how  are  you,  my  girl?" 

It  was  queer  to  be  j  olted  again  over  the  rough 
roads  of  the  neighbourhood — to  see  its  crude 
ugliness  widen  and  brighten  into  the  New  York 
that  was  familiar.  It  was  queer  to  be  sitting  in  a 
carriage  again,  to  mount  the  steps  of  the  house, 
to  breathe  the  warm  air  as  she  entered.  There 
were  flowers,  flowers  everywhere,  to  greet  her, 
masses  of  them,  blooming  in  the  great  hall,  and 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  at  every  turn.  "You 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

could  never  have  enough  of  flowers,"  laughed  the 
old  man;  "I  told  them  there  was  to  be  heaps  of 
flowers  to-day — for  you!  And  your  own  nurs- 
eries are  ready  for  your  boy!  I've  got  some  real 
fine  toys  for  him  there — you'll  see.  I  guess  he's 
too  young  to  play  with  them  yet,  but  it  livened 
me  up  to  get  'em,  and  he'll  grow." 

"You're  good  to  me!"  she  faltered,  moved. 
"Somebody  had  better  show  nurse"  where  the 
rooms  are.  Where  are  you,  nurse?" 

Nurse  was  hovering  on  the  threshold,  and  she 
came  forward — but  no  longer  recognisable.  Her 
dignity  was  gone.  Awe  transfigured  her.  Her 
mouth  was  open,  her  cheeks  were  bloodless,  her 
eyes  started  from  her  head;  when  she  spoke,  her 
voice  was  but  a  reverential  whisper. 

"You  had  better  take  Baby  upstairs  now,  nurse 
— they'll  show  you  the  way." 

"Yes,  madam,"  she  said  huskily. 

Unrecognisable  still,  she  crept  through  the  fan- 
tastic nurseries  when  Betty  followed  her.  Sup- 
ported by  ivory,  cradled  in  gold,  and  canopied 
with  rare  lace,  the  babe  lay  engrossed  by  his  six- 
penny "soother";  and  the  mother,  viewing  him, 
wished  that  he  were  old  enough  to  appreciate. 
She  craved  to  hear  her  child  approve  the  differ- 
ence; it  would  have  encouraged  her  to  witness 
his  delight.  Amid  the  pomp,  the  babe  lay  en- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  225 

grossed  by  his  "soother" — no  less  happy  had  he 
lain  in  London. 

She  went  down  to  her  own  rooms,  and  the 
majesty  of  them  startled  her  now.  Yet,  like  the 
child,  she  was  failing  to  enjoy.  It  was  exquisite, 
it  was  imperial,  but  it  was  not  "home."  She  had 
contemplated  more  gaily  the  bedroom  in  the 
Kensington  Hotel.  On  the  table  was  the  toilet- 
service  that  she  had  left  behind — and  as  she  gazed 
at  it  her  bosom  heaved,  her  eyes  grew  wide.  She 
sat  down,  and  rested  her  brow  on  her  hands. 

By  and  by  Mrs.  Waldehast  ran  in  to  welcome 
her,  and  her  spirits  rose;  but  Dardy  could  not 
stay  to  dinner,  and  the  evening  was  passed  alone 
with  Lynch.  While  he  exulted  over  her  return, 
Betty  was  thinking  how  perfect  it  would  be  if 
Keith  too  were  present  and  they  were  all  three 
happy  together. 

"It's  like  old  times  to  see  you  there,"  Lynch 
kept  saying,  "like  old  times!"  He  rubbed  his 
harsh,  yellow  hands  together,  rejoicing.  "You 
won't  want  to  talk  much  about  it  yet?"  he  asked 
wistfully. 

"Tell  me  more  about  Howard,"  she  said. 
"How  long  is  he  going  to  stay  there?  I'd  like 
to  go  to  see  him." 

"He  was  writing  about  coming  back  a  while 
ago;  they  were  very  pleased  with  his  progress. 


226  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

But  he's  been  worse  again  since  then — more 
haemorrhage.  I'm  afraid  for  Howard;  it  don't 
seem  to  be  doing  him  the  good  that  was  expected. 
I  guess  he'll  never  be  altogether  right  again." 

"Do  you  mean  he'll  always  be  an  invalid?" 
she  asked,  dismayed. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  repeated,  with  slow  nods,  "I 
begin  to  think  we  were  too  late  finding  out  he  was 
sick.  .  .  .  It's  made  me  look  back,  you  know,  his 
being  like  this!  He  hasn't  been  much  of  a  son, 
late  years,  but  I  used  to  have  lots  of  hopes  when 
he  was  younger.  It's  made  me  look  back.  That's 
one  reason  why  I'm  so  glad  to  have  your  boy." 

"You've  been  dull,  all  alone,"  she  said  pity- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  it's  been  lonesome.  This  house  ain't 
much  good  to  me,  you  know — two  rooms  are 
about  all  /  want  now.  But  I  guess  I'll  brace  up 
now  you're  back!  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  dandy 
time,  make  you  forget  your  troubles." 

She  sighed. 

"How  did  you  come  to  quit,  Betty?" 

"It  was  the  same  thing.  I  had  asked  him  be- 
fore— and  he  wouldn't!" 

"Didn't  mind  your  going?" 

"He  said  himself  it  must  be  one  thing  or  the 
other." 

"The  child's  illness  didn't  bring  him  down?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  227 

"He  consented  to  the  cable.  Of  course  he 
wouldn't  if  he  could  have  helped  it." 

"It  scared  me  some  when  I  got  it.  You  were 
broken  up,  eh?" 

"It  was  awful!  .  .  .  You  see,  he  said  the  hun- 
dred guineas  we  asked  for  might  have  been  a 
loan — he  said  I  had  no  right  to  have  taken  more. 
It  was  a  blessing  you  were  here.  I  don't  know 
what  we'd  have  done  if  you  had  been  away." 

"I  had  fixed  that;  whenever  you  cabled  for 
money,  you'd  have  got  it,  if  I  was  in  New  York 
or  not."  He  groaned.  "What  a  pity,  poppet, 
what  a  pity !  Still,  we'll  ease  it  up ;  I'll  fix  that 
for  you  too." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  do  I  mean!  I  mean  I'll  make  you  a 
free  woman.  You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  see 
your  whole  life  ruined  by  that  dog?  You  shall 
'  divorce  him." 

She  shivered. 

"He  said  you'd  try." 

"Is  that  so?  Well,  I  guess  his  judgment  was 
right  for  once.  I'll  do  more  than  'try'!  I'll 
have  a  chat  with  Dorfman  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  think  I  want  you  to  go  to  a  lawyer 
yet." 

"Why  not?"  He  peered  at  her  shrewdly, 
alarmed. 


228  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

She  didn't  speak. 

"Why  not?"  he  said  again.  "Don't  tell  me 
you're  weak  about  him  still?  You'll  never  be  so 
crazy  as  that?" 

"Isn't  it  all  over  between  us?"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I  want  to  see  a  divorce.  It  was  'all  over'  once 
before.  'Tisn't  two  years  ago  you  told  me  here 
you'd  never  speak  to  him  again  as  long  as  you 
lived — and  the  next  I  heard  about  it  was  that 
you  were  going  to  be  married.  See  here,  if  I 
work  it  for  you,  there'll  be  no  such  great  harm 
done  after  all.  You've  had  two  rough  years,  but 
you  can  cut  your  losses — you  can  marry  an  Eng- 
lish aristocrat  all  the  same.  The  boy  won't  get 
the  title,  but  he'll  have  plenty  of  money — I'll  see 
to  that — and  you'll  be  just  as  fond  of  the  heir." 

"Don't,"  she  begged,  "don't!    I  can't  bear  it." 

"What's  wrong?  He'll  be  your  son  as  well, 
won't  he?  And  by  a  better  man!  You  can  love 
two  children,  can't  you?" 

"I  should  never  marry,  whatever  happened." 

"You  have  heaps  of  time  to  change  your  views. 
You'll  meet  a  man  that's  good  enough  one  day." 

"I'd  never  give  my  child  a  stepfather,  in  any 
case." 

"When  you  like  the  man,  you'll  think  differ- 
ent. It  doesn't  pay  to  make  too  many  sacrifices 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  229 

for  your  children ;  they  grow  up,  and  you're  liable 
to  get  left.  When  your  boy  was  old  enough  to 
quit  you  for  some  girl,  and  you  were  too  old  to 
get  the  man  back,  I  guess  you'd  say  you  had  done 
a  poor  deal.  One  of  these  days  you'll  want  to 
marry  again,  and  I  mayn't  be  here  to  hustle  for 
you  then.  Get  your  divorce  while  I'm  with  you 
to  engineer  the  evidence.  Anyhow,  you're  better 
off  free." 

But  the  subject  was  abhorrent  to  her,  and 
though  he  harped  on  it  all  the  evening,  and  re- 
curred to  it  many  times  during  the  next  few 
days,  she  would  not  agree  to  his  going  to  his  so- 
licitor. 

He,  on  his  side,  would  not  agree  to  her  leaving 
him  to  travel  to  Howard  so  soon,  and  the  days 
glittered  with  new  colour.  If  she  had  found  no 
excitement  in  the  dazzling  change,  she  would  have 
been  more  than  human;  she  would  have  been 
more  than  human  if  there  had  not  been  hours 
in  which  she  laughed,  and  thrust  remembrance 
from  her  when  it  clawed.  Lynch  had  opened  an 
account  for  her  at  his  bank,  and  once  more  her 
means  were  unlimited;  once  more  she  ordered 
lavish  entertainments,  and  went  to  others.  Os- 
tensibly she  was  staying  with  her  father  for  two 
or  three  months,  and  the  circumstances  of  her 
marriage  had  been  sufficiently  sensational  for  ac- 


230  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

quaintances  to  spare  her  tactless  questions.  Her 
New  York  was  curious,  but  discreet. 

Soon  it  was  only  to  Dardy  that  she  spoke  of 
Keith,  and  she  did  not  speak  very  often  of  him  to 
her.  In  their  first  long  talk,  Dardy  had  also 
counselled  her  to  divorce  him,  and  it  had  been 
difficult  to  explain  why  she  shuddered  at  the  idea. 

Why  was  it  that  she  shuddered?  Well,  it 
would  mean  perjuring  herself.  Though  she  had 
been  reared  in  a  world  where  no  one  was  ex- 
pected to  utter  the  truth  when  it  was  against  his 
interests,  the  last  two  years  had  shown  her  that 
there  was  another  world,  where  people  esteemed 
cuteness  less  and  honour  more.  That  was  one 
reason.  Also,  she  knew  instinctively  that  she 
would  feel  worse  afterwards  than  she  did  now, 
more  contemptuous  of  herself — more  blank. 

Oh,  but  she  didn't  want  to  think  about  it !  She 
would  have  the  carriage  round  and  go  and  scatter 
some  more  money.  She'd  make  up  a  luncheon 
party  for  Sherry's,  and  go  to  see  a  musical  com- 
edy in  the  evening,  and  have  a  good  time  after- 
wards at  the  Zeislers*  ball.  .  .  .  Only,  one 
couldn't  have  a  very  good  time  when  the  right 
man  wasn't  there.  Idiot!  Was  she  going  to 
squander  her  youth  regretting?  She  had  pined 
in  her  cage,  and  now  she  was  sentimentalising 
when  she  had  escaped.  "Betty,"  she  advised  her- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

self  earnestly,  "for  the  love  of  sense,  be  consist- 
ent, my  dear!  You've  got  what  you  wanted,  and 
still  you  aren't  happy.  Nobody  but  me  would 
have  any  patience  with  youl" 

Was  she  already  forgetting  the  waiter  with  the 
grubby  shirt-front?  the  chilly  entrees,  stiffening 
in  their  gravy?  the  white  sauce  of  Albion  for  the 
flabby  fish,  and  the  white  sauce  of  Albion  for  the 
Appendicitis  pudding?  More  than  all,  was  she 
forgetting  the  third  room?  No,  memory  dis- 
played them  to  her — in  the  theatres,  in  the  stores, 
in  the  whirligig  of  waste  that  was  her  life.  It  had 
been  shocking,  odious,  bitter!  She  repeated  it. 
She  wouldn't  idealise  the  execrable  because  it 
was  past!  But  she  had  been  unjust  to  Richard. 
This  she  came  to  see  now.  Once  she  said  so  to 
Dardy,  when  they  were  driving. 

"You  know,  he  did  all  he  could  for  me,  but 
make  the  one  concession,"  she  said.  "He  gave 
me  every  mortal  thing  I  asked,  outside  that.  If 
he  hadn't  indulged  me  so  much,  we  should  still 
be  together." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"He  would  have  had  plenty  of  money  for 
Baby's  illness,  and  we  shouldn't  have  had  to  cable. 
It  was  the  cable  that  brought  about  the  separa- 
tion— brought  about  the  climax,  anyhow.  And 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

it  wasn't  his  fault  that  we  had  to  send  it,  it  was 
the  fault  of  my  extravagance." 

"It's  lucky  you  were  extravagant,  then!  It's 
no  good,  I  can't  pretend  I'm  sorry  you're  here, 
Betty.  Only  I  do  want  you  to  see  the  business 
through!  It  isn't  through  like  this — you're  not 
maid,  wife,  nor  widow.  Besides,  he  can't  oppose 
a  divorce — it's  only  fair  to  you  that  he  should  let 
you  get  it." 

"I  can't  see  that  I've  any  claim  on  him  that 
way,"  said  Betty.  "Between  you  and  me,  I  think 
he's  got  more  to  complain  about  than  I  have; 
I've  got  Baby." 

"Men  aren't  wrapt  up  in  babies  the  same  as  we 
are." 

"Dick  was  wrapt  up  in  ours." 

"And  he  has  his  profession.  He'll  be  able  to 
take  it  easier  now ;  his  expenses  will  be  less  with- 
out you." 

"That's  true,"  said  his  wife  mournfully.  "He'll 
do  better  work  now  I'm  gone.  He  had  to  paint 
down  for  me;  I  was  a  drag  on  his  genius  from 
the  start." 

Dardy  Waldehast's  nose  turned  to  one  side. 

"I  never  heard  he  was  a  'genius'  before!" 

"You  never  heard  anything  about  art  at  all, 
that's  why!  You  don't  know  a  picture  from  a 
frying-pan,  excepting  by  their  prices." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  238 

"Thank  you." 

"No,  and  you  don't." 

"And  how  much  have  you  learnt  about  'art* 
in  five  minutes?" 

"Dardy,"  she  said,  touching  her  friend's  hand, 
"since  I  went  away  I've  learnt  more  about  art, 
and  about  Real  Life,  than  all  the  women  at  the 
dance  last  night  lumped  together." 

"Better  take  care  you  don't  bust,"  said  Dardy 
pleasantly. 

"Oh,  you  may  chip  me,  but  it's  true.  I'm  be- 
ginning to  see  how  much  I  did  learn.  I'm  begin- 
ning to  see  how  much  I  lacked — lack.  I've  had 
no  ideals." 

"If  you  have  any  more  virtues,  you'll  be  im- 
possible." 

"Every  one  of  those  women,  Dardy,  had  some- 
thing higher  than  I  havel" 

"I  thought  you  just  said  they  were  infants  by 
comparison?" 

"I'm  talking  about  the  women  in  the  studios 
and  the  attics  they  called  'flats.'  They  weren't 
all  clever,  but  they  all  lived  for  something  they 
expected  to  do,  or  to  see  their  husbands  do.  They 
all  had  an  aim  in  life.  I've  no  aim,  except  to 
make  my  baby  happy — and  perhaps  I  haven't 
gone  the  right  road  to  do  that." 


234  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"I  don't  know  what  there  is  to  worry  you  about 
the  baby." 

"I'm  not  worrying.  But  I've  wondered  once 
or  twice." 

"Wondered  what?" 

"Well,  suppose  he  grows  up  like  Richard? 
The  money  won't  compensate  him  for  the  dis- 
grace." 

"Disgrace?" 

"He'll  think  it  a  disgrace  if  he's  like  his  father. 
He'll  be  brought  up  an  American,  and  he'll  love 
his  country  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  He'll 
want  to  paint  for  it,  or  to  legislate  for  it,  or  to 
fight  for  it;  or  to  work  for  its  glory  somehow; 
America  will  be  a  Religion  to  him.  That's  how 
Richard  feels  about  England.  A  boy  who  felt 
the  same  way  about  America  wouldn't  be  very 
grateful  to  me  for  having  suckled  him  on  his  na- 
tion's blood.  He'd  tell  me  that  he  would  rather 
have  been  poor." 

After  a  stare  of  dismay,  the  other  woman  said 
encouragingly : 

"I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  like  your  husband; 
he'll  grow  up  to  take  a  different  view  of  things." 

Betty's  eyes  were  more  mournful  still :  "Y-e-s." 

"And,  anyhow,"  continued  Dardy,  "isn't  that 
tall  talk  rather  rats,  considering?  You're  going 
grand  slam  on  'the  nation's  blood'  yourself,  you 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  235 

know !  I  don't  want  to  rub  it  in,  but  your  father 
has  made  it  very  soft  for  you.  It's  a  bit  thin  to 
spout  heroics  and  go  a  splurge  on  his  money  at 
the  same  time." 

"Don't  you  think  I  know  it?"  exclaimed  Betty. 
"I'm  the  meanest  skunk  that  ever  lived!  I  know 
that !  I  know  my  father  deserves  to  be  loved  by 
me,  at  any  rate,  and  I'm  ashamed  that  I  don't 
love  him  more,  and  I've  hated  myself  for  it  since 
I've  been  back.  But  you  can't  force  your  love, 
and  you  can't  quell  your  love ;  you've  got  to  take 
it  as  it  is,  like  the  sun  in  the  sky.  I'm  a  fraud. 
I  want  to  be  good,  and  I  haven't  got  the  grit, 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  me!  When  I  do 
right,  I'm  miserable;  and  when  I'm  wicked,  I'm 
not  at  peace  either.  There's  no  place  in  the  world 
for  such  a  shilly-shally  to  be  happy  in!" 

"You  were  all  right  before  you  met  this  man 
— you  had  none  of  these  crazy  notions  then." 

"That  isn't  so;  you  know  it  isn't.  I've  had 
the  thoughts  always.  He  only  strengthened 
them.  But  they  usedn't  to  come  so  often.  They 
didn't  come  so  often  even  when  I  was  with  him. 
While  I  was  hankering  after  the  dollars,  I  didn't 
seem  to  feel  they  were  so  guilty.  But  now  I've 

got  them  again,  and  I'm  spending  them,  and 

Oh,  Dardy,  the  truth's  beastly  close!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

GONE!  No  letter  from  her,  no  line.  For 
weeks  he  had  nursed  hope  of  an  olive  twig,  the 
merest  hint.  Gone — marriage,  fatherhood,  every 
aim  but  art  that  he  had  known  during  the  two 
years  that  counted  most !  Once  he  had  lived  alone 
and  asked  for  nothing  better;  to-day  his  spirit 
listened  for  her  voice,  and  waited  for  his  child's 
in  every  waking  hour.  Once  he  had  called  it 
peace  to  be  alone;  to-day  he  called  it  desolation. 

Wrench  up  a  life  by  its  roots  and  bid  it  bear 
flowers  1  Only  his  art  remained,  and  as  yet  he 
could  not  paint. 

The  flat  was  shut.  He  would  never  enter  it 
again.  If  he  could  find  someone  to  relieve  him 
of  its  burden,  he  would  try  to  work  in  the  country. 
In  the  meantime,  the  additional  expense  of  ac- 
commodation there  forbade  the  plan.  He  stayed 
in  London,  and  lived  at  the  studio. 

Gone !  Wretched  as  he  was,  he  did  not  delude 
himself.  He  was  not  longing  for  the  woman  that 
she  had  become,  but  he  was  in  love  with  the 
woman  that  she  used  to  be — or  seemed  to  be ;  had 

236 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  237 

briefly  been!  Remembrance  gave  her  back  to 
him  in  many  scenes,  and  all  were  early  scenes. 
Sometimes  he  communed  with  her  in  dreams,  and 
woke  with  the  magic  of  her  presence  still  cling- 
ing to  his  senses.  To  wake  was  to  lose  again. 
And  the  Betty  he  had  just  seen  lived  in  his 
dreams  only  now!  He  felt  that  bereavement 
by  change  was  more  poignant  than  bereavement 
by  death. 

He  spent  the  evenings  smoking  alone,  or  roam- 
ing about  the  streets.  To  his  club  he  had  gone 
seldom  since  his  marriage,  and  now  he  shunned 
it  rigidly.  Nothing  would  induce  him  to  allude 
to  the  circumstances — let  time  reveal  them! 
Everybody  had  told  him  he  was  a  fool  at  the 
beginning,  and,  among  themselves,  men  would 
say  worse  of  him  henceforward.  Such  sympathy 
as  people  had  to  spare  would  of  course  be  given 
to  her — the  victim  of  his  high-flown  ideas.  Well, 
Heaven  knew  she  was  welcome  to  it!  For  that 
matter,  he  would  far  rather  she  received  sym- 
pathy than  blame.  Yet  he  felt  it  to  be  a  little 
hard  that,  suffering  as  he  was,  he  must  figure  in 
the  world's  eyes  as  a  husband  without  affections, 
a  brute  who  had  sacrificed  his  wife  and  child  on 
the  altar  of  his  vanity. 

We  judge  humanity  by  the  few  humans  we 
have  known.  Keith  had  known  none  to  say  to 


238  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

him,  "You  are  right."  No  man  had  owned, 
"You  are  practising  only  what  we  preach — to  be 
consistent,  we  should  all  have  to  do  the  same." 
On  the  contrary,  Lynch's  censors  had  counselled 
his  son-in-law  to  take  his  money.  Keith  had  no 
hope  that  the  world  would  be  just. 

Of  course  he  said  that  he  didn't  care,  that  his 
plight  was  too  black  to  be  darkened;  but  we  all 
want  justice,  and  he  did  care.  When  necessity 
drove  him  to  an  easel  at  last,  work,  by  very  slow 
degrees,  yielded  his  only  solace.  The  sketches 
of  his  wife,  which  he  had  removed  from  the  flat, 
faced  him  on  the  walls — Betty  in  a  white  dinner- 
gown,  and  in  a  rose  peignoir,  and  coiling  her  hair 
before  a  mirror;  Betty  saying,  "Mr.  Keith,  You 
will  please  Take  Me  Back  to  the  Room" — each 
of  them  a  reminder  and  a  pang.  The  sight  of 
them  hurt  him  so  much  that  he  huddled  them 
all  into  a  corner  one  day;  but  their  banishment 
hurt  him  so  much  that  he  put  them  back  again. 

And  meanwhile  his  wife,  too,  was  lonely,  al- 
though she  lived  in  crowds.  It  was  painful  to 
discover  that  Dardy  and  she  were  not  such  chums 
as  they  had  been.  Like  the  women  on  the  boat, 
the  friend  of  her  girlhood  seemed  very  limited 
now.  When  Betty  was  earnest,  Dardy  was 
bored;  and  when  Dardy  was  vivacious,  the  sub- 
ject was  not  very  interesting  to  Betty. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  239 

When  she  had  been  back  a  month,  she  insisted 
on  going  to  see  Howard  without  further  delay. 
Lynch  professed  to  be  unable  to  leave  New  York 
just  then,  and  she  travelled  to  Colorado  with  her 
maid. 

In  truth,  she  had  been  less  eager  to  see  Howard 
than  to  withdraw  from  the  social  world,  and 
here  again  she  reproached  herself  for  coldness. 
It  was  queer  that  the  only  real  love  that  she  had 
felt  had  been  given  to  the  husband  whom  she 
had  deserted  and  the  son  who  might  live  to  con- 
demn her ! 

"I've  had  the  thoughts  always — he  only 
strengthened  them."  It  was  true.  She  wondered 
if,  without  his  influence,  they  would  have  grown 
to  daunt  her  as  they  did  to-day.  Most  likely 
not — she  would  have  become  callous,  like  Dardyl 
But  she  had  met  him  while  she  was  still  impres- 
sionable. Now  they  were  supreme. 

And  also  she  had  come  to  see  that  the  shame 
of  the  money  was  not  her  only  shame — she  saw 
that,  even  if  her  luxury  had  been  honest,  it  would 
have  been  insufficient  to  content  her  apart  from 
him.  In  the  solitude  of  the  night  had  she  made 
these  meditations?  She  had  made  them  no  less 
often  in  the  crowds  where  bands  were  playing. 
The  perception  of  her  mind  and  soul's  develop- 
ment had  come  to  the  woman  at  all  hours.  It  had 


240  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

trespassed  upon  ballrooms  and  intruded  into  res- 
taurants. 

And  while  she  travelled  to  her  brother,  she 
thought  what  the  landscape  would  have  meant 
to  Keith. 

The  journey  was  very  tedious  to  her — and 
she  reflected  that  to  him  it  would  have  been  a 
novelty  to  travel  in  such  a  train.  They  reached 
Fernando  Prospect  on  Tuesday,  many  hours 
late.  It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  when 
they  entered  the  ramshackle  station,  but  the  con- 
veyance was  waiting  to  take  her  to  the  hotel.  A 
warm  wind  raged,  as  if  to  sweep  the  little  town 
to  ruins.  She  saw  a  belated  fruit-seller  clinging 
breathlessly  to  palings  for  support;  her  stand 
had  been  overturned,  and  the  road  was  ruddy 
with  fruit.  Sweeping  and  volleying,  the  wind 
fought  the  carriage  as  the  horses  ploughed  for- 
ward. It  looked  to  her  a  strange  spot  for  the 
cure  of  phthisis. 

At  the  hotel  she  learnt  that  the  wind  was 
"dropping  now,"  and  she  wondered  what  its  force 
had  been  originally. 

Early  next  day  she  was  at  the  sanatorium,  and 
in  the  reception-room  it  was  broken  to  her  that 
the  case  was  hopeless — Howard  was  dying  fast. 
She  was  told  that  a  letter  had  been  posted  to 
Lynch  just  before  the  receipt  of  the  telegram 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

announcing  her  departure.  Even  under  the 
shock,  she  realised  that,  from  mercenary  consid- 
erations, much  of  the  truth  had  been  withheld 
hitherto — that  the  patient  had  been  too  profitable 
to  be  relinquished.  But  it  was  no  time  to  make 
reproaches. 

The  wasted  face  that  turned  to  her  on  the  pil- 
low was  a  sermon  on  the  wasted  life. 

"Ah,  Betty,"  he  said  tonelessly. 

The  nurse  left  her  alone  with  him,  and  she 
drew  a  chair  to  his  side.  Beyond  the  bed,  all 
was  sweet  air  and  flowers.  Colorado  was  fair 
this  morning.  Her  view  was  a  peaceful  yellow 
world — that,  and  the  gaunt  face  of  the  dying 
man. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  couldn't  recover;  he 
talked  of  "getting  out  of  this  hole  before  long 
—coming  back."  Often  as  he  dwelt  on  his  symp- 
toms, she  noticed  that  he  never  spoke  of  the  "dis- 
ease"— it  was  always  the  "illness."  Yet  he  seemed 
to  understand  that  he  could  never  again  be  quite 
as  other  men,  and  his  first  allusion  to  her  mar- 
riage was  coupled  with  a  lament  for  himself. 

"We've  both  made  a  mess  of  it,  old  girl,"  he 
said,  "eh?" 

Fits  of  coughing  interrupted  his  speech  and 
left  him  very  tired.  He  had  had  a  bad  night, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

so  she  had  been  advised  not  to  stay  long.  But 
she  returned  in  the  afternoon. 

He  had  become  very  peevish  and  exacting, 
and  she  admired  the  gentleness  with  which  the 
nurse  answered  when  he  grumbled  at  her.  Was 
she  so  kind  when  no  one  else  was  there?  Betty 
asked.  Yes,  he  had  praise  for  his  nurse — strange 
praise  on  Howard's  lips:  "She's  a  real  good 
woman!"  he  said.  She  was  young,  and  refined 
— many  less  attractive  girls  expected  to  make 
great  matches.  Though  there  was  nothing  singu- 
lar about  her,  she  was  extraordinary  to  Lynch' s 
daughter,  who  contrasted  the  arduous  life  with 
her  own. 

"You  have  a  great  deal  to  do,  nurse,"  she  re- 
marked on  the  morrow.  Howard  was  sleeping, 
and  they  were  together  in  the  adjoining  parlour. 

Nurse  Emery  looked  gratified. 

"I  wonder  you  think  so — what  you  see  isn't 
much!  The  visitors  don't  see  the  work.  As  a 
rule,  visitors  think  a  nurse's  life  is  very  'pretty.' ' 

"I  think  it  must  be  terrible,"  said  Betty.  "Are 
you  an  enthusiast?" 

"I  would  rather  do  this  than  anything  else  I 
am  capable  of." 

"  I  meant,  did  you  go  in  for  it  just  for  the  love 
of  it?  I  know  there  are  girls  who  do." 

The  head-shake  was  prompt  and  cheerful. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  243 

"Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Keith;  I'm  not  a  heroine — I  had 
to  make  a  living,  and  I  chose  the  way  I  liked 
best,  that's  all." 

"Does  it  lead  to  anything? — is  there  anything 
to  look  forward  to?" 

"Why,  no;  I  expect  I'll  be  nursing  as  long  as 
I'm  strong  enough." 

"And  yet  you  seem  so  contented?"  said  Betty 
wistfully. 

"Well,  I've  got  to  make  a  living  somehow," 
repeated  the  girl;  "whatever  I  did,  it'd  mean 
work.  And  this  way,  I'm  helping  other  people 
at  the  same  time.  That  keeps  one's  heart  up; 
there's  some  pull  about  that!" 

"Yes,"  murmured  Betty,  "there  must  be  some 
pull  about  that!"  But  she  wasn't  so  sure  of  her 
being  no  heroine. 

She  went  each  morning  to  the  sanatorium.  She 
sat  daily  in  her  brother's  rooms,  overhanging 
the  yellow,  smiling  landscape,  that  looked  so  re- 
mote from  death — sat  learning  to  be  patient,  re- 
calling his  childhood,  enduring  his  hopes. 

His  body  was  taken  to  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  old  are  frightened  when  the  young  die. 
Though  Lynch's  love  for  his  son  had  grown  less 
as  the  boy  grew  older,  his  consternation  was  deep 
— far  too  deep  for  Betty  to  startle  him  yet  with 
the  thoughts  thronging  her  mind. 

She  lived  very  quietly  now,  and  the  retirement 
was  welcome  to  her.  But  retirement  could  not 
still  her  memories  of  Keith,  it  could  not  pacify 
her  conscience.  She  had  failed.  She  was  bring- 
ing up  his  child  on  the  wealth  that  he  condemned, 
and  she  revolted  at  the  knowledge. 

Defenceless,  for  she  had  admitted  his  right  to 
condemn!  She  had  chosen  evil  seeing  it  to  be 
evil,  chosen  it  with  her  eyes  open,  understanding 
all — except  the  latent  truth  within  herself. 

They  owed  it  to  this  wealth  that  their  child 
lived!  Inscrutable!  It  might  be  that  the  very 
dollars  which  saved  him  had  cost  the  life  of  an- 
other. Well,  if  it  was  heinous  so  to  save  one's 
child,  she  took  the  sin  upon  her  soul,  as  Keith 
had  done,  without  repentance.  But  afterwards? 
No  obscurity  there!  The  facts  blazed  fiercely. 

244 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  245 

Not  gratitude  nor  necessity  could  be  her  plea. 
She  had  sinned  because  she  was  a  coward.  She 
had  pillaged  for  her  own  ends. 

From  Lynch  she  must  at  present  withhold  her 
intention,  and  she  had  to  unburden  her  mind  to 
someone. 

"I  mean  to  go  back,"  she  said  to  Dardy  two 
or  three  weeks  after  the  funeral. 

"I  thought  you  would,"  said  Dardy,  with  a 
shrug.  "What  good  do  you  think  that  will  do?" 

"For  one  thing,  it  will  make  me  happier." 

"It  won't  last  any  longer  this  time  than  it  did 
before — it  won't  last  so  long!" 

"I  mean  it  to  last  all  my  life  this  time.  And 
it  will — it's  different  now." 

"I  don't  see  where  the  difference  comes  in." 

"Before,  I  had  no  idea  what  it  would  be  like; 
now,  I  know  just  what  I've  got  to  expect." 

"And  you  know  you  weren't  able  to  stand  it! 
Why  should  you  stand  it  any  better  now?  It's 
easy  to  be  courageous  while  you're  safe.  Wait 
till  you  get  back — you'll  find  it  all  as  impossible 
as  ever!  ...  If  you  had  let  your  father  do  as  he 
wanted,  you'd  have  spared  yourself  all  this  kind 
of  thing.  Get  comfortably  divorced,  and  you'll 
know  where  you  are — you'll  feel  settled  then. 
And  much  better  for  your  husband,  too!  He'd 
know  this  resolution  of  yours  wouldn't  wash.  It's 


246  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

a  muddling  sort  of  life  for  a  man  to  have  a  wife 
always  saying  'Farewell  for  ever,'  and  'Here  I 
am  again!'  If  you  returned  to  him  to-morrow, 
you  don't  suppose  he'd  believe  in  your  promises?" 

"No,"  said  Betty,  "he  couldn't  believe  in  them 
a  little  bit ;  I've  given  myself  away  too  much  for 
that.  No,  I've  thought  all  that  out.  If  I  went 
back  to  him  now,  it'd  be  a  big  mistake — he'd 
have  no  faith  in  me,  and  I'd  have  no  right  to  ex- 
pect it.  It'd  be  a  sham  homecoming,  and  that 
would  be  horrible!  But  it  isn't  what  I  mean  to 
do.  I  mean  to  educate  myself  first." 

"What?" 

"I  have  got  to  live  like  that  alone.  Then 
when  I  go  back  to  him,  there'll  be  no  doubts  to 
spoil  our  meeting.  I  intend  to  go  to  him  as  a 
wife  who  has  proved  herself;  I  am  going  to  be 
able  to  say,  'I  have  done  it,  so  I  know  that  I  can 
do  it!'  Only  it'd  be  cruel  to  leave  here  so  soon 
after  Howard's  death — I  must  wait  a  month  or 
two." 

"You're  going  to  live  like  that  alone?"  cried 
Dardy.  "How?  What  are  you  going  to  live  on 
— 'genteel  poverty'  from  your  father?  If  you 
can  accept  a  little,  you  can  accept  a  lot — the 
money  isn't  any  purer  taken  in  small  quantities." 

"I  am  not  going  to  have  anything  at  all  from 
my  father — I  shall  manage  on  mj  own  money. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  847 

If  I  live  in  England — and  I  want  to  be  in  Eng- 
land— it'll  mean  nearly  two  pounds  a  week. 
There  are  plenty  of  women  there  who  live  on 
less." 

Dardy  Waldehast  opened  her  mouth  as  if  to 
exclaim,  but  regarded  her  friend  in  helpless  si- 
lence. At  last  she  said  feebly: 

"Two  pounds  a  week?" 

"Plenty  of  women  there  live  on  less,"  repeated 
Betty.  "Why  shouldn't  I?— I'm  not  a  fool." 

"Women!  What  sort  of  women?  There  are 
women  who  tell  fortunes  with  birds  on  the  side- 
walk. What's  that  got  to  do  with  you?  You 
must  be  out  of  your  head?  You  don't  know  how 
to  tell  fortunes  with  birds  or  live  on  two  pounds 
a  week,  do  you?" 

"No,  no  better  than  you,  Dardy.  But  I'm 
going  to  learn — not  how  to  tell  fortunes  with 
birds,  I  have  no  use  for  the  accomplishment — 
but  how  to  make  myself  a  real  wife  for  the  man 
I  married.  That's  the  object  of  my  life — and 
I'll  put  up  with  some  pretty  rough  times  to  suc- 
ceed. Don't  make  a  mistake:  I'm  quite  aware 
what  two  pounds  a  week  will  be  to  mel  I  was 
frightened  on  ten — on  two,  I  shall  feel  as  lost 
as  both  the  Babes  in  the  Wood  at  the  start.  But 
I  know  lhat  shoals  of  women  do  contrive  on  that 
— and  gentlewomen — and  what  they  are  capable 


248  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

of  doing,  I  will  become  capable  of  doing.  I  don't 
choose  to  remain  inferior  to  any  woman  living; 
I  don't  choose  to  lose  my  husband  and  my  self- 
respect  because  other  women  know  more  than 
I  do." 

Dardy  groaned. 

"You'd  be  less  demented  to  go  right  back  to 
him!  You  in  London,  on  two  pounds  a  week? 
Hanging  out  the  washing  on  the  tenement  bal- 
cony?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  live  in  London;  I'll  go  to 
the  country,  where  it's  cheaper,  and  the  air  will 
be  better  for  Baby.  I'll  have  rooms  in  a  village. 
Why,  we  knew  people  who  looked  forward  to 
rooms  in  a  village  somewhere — it  was  their  New- 
port; they  were  'lucky'  the  summer  they  could 
afford  to  go." 

"Some  people  are  lucky  the  summer  they  go 
hopping.  It  all  depends  what  you're  used  to. 
Your  plan's  farce.  The  baby  prevents  it  right 
away — your  nurse  wouldn't  stay  with  you." 

"Of  course  she  won't  stay — I  won't  be  able 
to  pay  her  wages.  I'll  take  nurse  back  to  Eng- 
land, but  we  shall  part  in  town." 

"You're  going  to  be  his  nurse  yourself?" 

"I'm  going  to  be  his  Mother.  That's  just  part 
of  the  education.  I've  adored  my  baby,  but  I 
haven't  done  anything  worth  a  cent  for  him. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  249 

Well,  I'm  going  to  begin.  And  he'll  love  me 
better  for  it  soon,  too!  I  had  my  first  lesson  last 
night ;  she  thought  it  was  a  caprice,  but  it  would 
never  do  for  him  to  be  left  dependent  on  me 
while  I  could  only  kneel  down  and  worship  when 
he  was  dressed  to  kill.  Dardy,  I  tell  you  he 
seemed  more  my  own  son  in  the  five  minutes  that 
I  was  splashing  his  little  duck  of  a  body  in  that 
bath  last  night  than  he  had  done  in  all  the  months 
since  he  was  born!  I  was  covered  up  in  nurse's 
big  apron,  and  he  rolled  on  my  lap  like  a  little 
wet  cherub,  and  I  couldn't  dry  him  for  joy." 

"Betty,  it  won't  work!" 

"It  has  to  work.  The  only  thing  I'm  wonder- 
ing is  how  I'm  going  to  take  him  out — I'm  not 
keen  on  pushing  a  baby-carriage.  But  perhaps 
in  the  country  I  could  get  a  girl  to  come  and  do 
that  for  a  trifle.  I'd  go  with  her  to  see  that 
nothing  happened." 

"Are  you  proposing  to  make  your  own  bed 
and  cook  your  own  dinner,  too?" 

"Xo;  in  English  'apartments'  there's  a  'land- 
lady' who  does  that." 

"Just  as  well  to  be  thorough  while  you're  about 
it,  don't  you  think?"  said  Dardy  drily. 

"I  mean  to  be  thorough.  My  aim  is  to  learn 
what  I  need  to  know.  If  I  learn  how  to  content 
myself  on  two  pounds  a  week,  I'll  have  done  all 


250  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

that's  necessary,  and  more — he  never  asked  me 
to  live  on  so  little." 

"And  how  long  do  you  give  yourself  to  learn 
it?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  that.    I  expect  it'll  be  hard." 

"Yes,  I  should  say  it  would!  You've  been 
wasting  money  all  your  life,  Betty — you  don't 
imagine  you  can  become  somebody  else  because 
you  want  to?  Your  intentions  are  all  right — I 
appreciate  them,  from  a  distance — but  you  can't 
dye  your  nature  another  colour  in  a  few  months 
with  a  course  of  noble  intentions." 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  a  few  months,"  said  Betty 
pensively;  "I'm  hoping  I  may  get  used  to  it  in 
about  a  year.  When  I  go,  there'll  be  another 
dividend  towards  the  passage  money — and  I'll 
travel  cheap.  A  year's  a  long  time.  Say  there 
were  three  months  to  despond  in,  and  three  to  be- 
gin to  lift  my  head  up ;  then  I'd  have  six  months 
left  to  get  cheerful.  I  don't  think  that's  too  san- 
guine?" 

"Aren't  you  overlooking  that  you  had  about 
twice  as  long  to  get  cheerful — and  couldn't  do  it  ? 
On  more  than  two  pounds  a  week!" 

"Yes — I  mean  'no';  I'm  not  overlooking  it; 
I've  said  that  myself !  But  I  have  altered  through 
good  intentions — and  perhaps  more  through  bad 
mistakes.  It  may  be  just  as  well  that  I  came 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  251 

back — if  I  hadn't  come  back  I  might  always 
have  craved  for  it.  I've  realised  myself  here. 
I  shall  never  crave  any  more,  because  I've  found 
it  doesn't  make  me  happy  now  I've  got  it.  And 
that  'twice  as  long'  was  education  too.  I  know 
now  it  wasn't  all  wasted,  though  it  seemed  to  be. 
And  there's  another  thing  on  top  of  that :  I  had 
Dick  to  indulge  me  before,  and  I  wasn't  earnest 
enough  to  say,  'Don't  do  it.'  This  time  I  shall 
stand  alone;  this  time  there  can't  be  any  com- 
promise in  any  moment — I've  either  got  to  learn 
the  lesson,  every  line  of  it,  or  be  ashamed  as  long 
as  I  live.  I'm  fighting  for  the  Right.  Why,  I'm 
so  sure  I'll  win  at  the  finish,  that  the  worst  part 
of  it  all  won't  be  the  struggle — it'll  be  letting 
Dick  think  that  I'm  still  here  without  a  con- 
science. I  can't  help  that.  I  daren't  let  him  hear 
from  me  till  I'm  through,  however  long  it  takes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it'd  be  the  end  of  my  plan — he'd 
make  me  go  back  to  him  before  I  ought,  and  be- 
fore he  truly  wanted  me  again.  He  shall  have 
faith  in  me  before  I  go!  I  don't  allow  my  hus- 
band to  'rescue'  me  out  of  pity.  He's  got  to 
come  and  want  me  as  he  never  wanted  me  in  all 
his  days — to  be  in  love  with  my  soul  as  well  as 
my  face;  he's  got  to  feel  that  I'm  just  the  one 
thing  in  this  world  that  could  make  life  worth 


2S2  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

living  for  him."  The  dimple  confirmed  the  chin 
— "And  then  it'll  be  good  enough !" 

Dardy  was  glad  that  the  news  wasn't  to  be 
broken  to  Lynch  yet — in  a  month  or  two  the 
fervour  might  subside.  But  she  shuddered. 
Though  she  had  scoffed  at  the  project  and  called 
it  "farce,"  something  in  her — an  instinct  of  her 
earlier  self — had  been  impressed.  The  earlier 
self  believed,  so  the  later  woman  was  alarmed. 

It  was  more  than  two  months  afterwards,  the 
night  that  Betty  broached  the  matter  to  her 
father.  He  brooded  less  on  Howard's  death. 
The  fascination  of  finance,  the  subject  of  her 
divorce,  were  again  dominant  in  his  mind.  She 
felt  that  it  must  be  now  or  never  that  she  told 
him.  But  it  punished  her  to  deal  the  blow.  With 
her  deeper  comprehension  of  herself,  she  entered 
more  fully  into  the  feelings  of  others.  At  once 
less  artful  and  less  shallow  than  she  had  been, 
she  understood  what  the  parting  would  be  to  him. 
Development  is  the  gift  of  events,  not  of  time. 
The  girl  had  gone  who  only  two  years  ago  had 
told  him  carelessly  that  she  meant  to  take  a  trip 
to  Europe,  when  she  meant  to  meet  her  lover  on 
the  steamer.  The  Betty  of  to-day  could  have 
done  that  no  more  than  she  could  have  lost  sight 
of  her  purpose  to  chatter  about  curling-irons  in 
the  stateroom. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  253 

"Father,"  she  said,  "I  have  got  to  say  some- 
thing that  will  make  you  feel  bad.  I  am  missing 
my  husband." 

It  seemed  to  Lynch  that  his  heart  sank  slowly 
till  it  lay  a  weight  in  his  stomach.  He  blinked 
at  her  silently. 

Then  he  said : 

"You  ain't  missing  him,  honey ;  you've  got  the 
hump,  that's  all.  It's  natural — you  can't  have 
any  gaiety  now.  We'll  put  that  to  rights  before 
long,  though;  hold  on  a  bitl" 

"It  isn't  that.  I'm  thankful  to  have  no  gaiety. 
I've  been  missing  him  from  the  day  I  sailed.  It 
was  more  than  a  little  to  get  away  from  the  gaiety 
that  I  went  to  Fernando  Prospect.  You  see — 
you  see,  I  love  him!  That's  the  whole  story." 

"What's  the  good  of  loving  him  when  he  won't 
climb  down?  I  want  you  to  be  happy,  you  know 
that,  but  it  don't  rest  with  me.  When  you  told 
me,  at  the  start,  you  thought  so  much  about  him, 
I  said,  'Well,  you  shall  marry  him,  then!'  Didn't 
I?  It  wasn't  what  I  aimed  at  for  you,  but  I 
knuckled  under.  I'm  ready  to  knuckle  under 
now,  but  what  can  I  do?  If  it  was  him  that  was 
talking,  instead  of  you,  I'd  soon  fix  things ;  but  if 
you  make  the  move,  it  isn't  easy  to  make  the  con- 
ditions." 

"I    don't    want    any    conditions,"    she    said. 


254  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"That's  the  part  that's  going  to  hurt  you  most, 
-but  I've  got  to  say  it — I  know  he's  right." 

He  didn't  start,  but  his  gaze  widened  at  space. 
Again  there  were  seconds  before  he  spoke. 

"See  here,  he  has  put  his  principles  first,  not 
you.  Some  people  might  deduce  that  he's  not 
attached  to  you — I  don't  now,  I've  lived  too  long. 
But,  in  your  own  interests,  try  to  answer  this 
straight — is  he  as  fond  of  you  as  you  are  of  him? 
If  that's  so,  we'll  get  him  over  on  some  pretext 
— cable  him  you're  sick — and  I'll  fix  matters 
then,  or  you  may  call  me  a  fool." 

She  demurred  in  a  low  voice,  "I  don't  want 
them  'fixed.'  I  mean  it  to  end  his  way.  That's 
real.  No  one  can  alter  it.  It'll  pain  us  both  for 
nothing  if  you  try.  I've  meant  it  for  months,  but 
I  couldn't  tell  you  before.  Father,  it  has  got 
to  be!" 

Lynch  put  out  his  hand  mechanically  for  a 
cigar,  and  bit  off  the  point,  and  struck  a  match- 
all  slowly,  still  with  the  unseeing  stare.  The 
match  burnt  to  his  fingers  before  he  thought  to 
raise  it.  He  let  it  fall — and  took  the  cigar  from 
his  mouth. 

"W-e-11!"  he  said  submissively. 

"I  want  to  go  at  once.  I'm  going  to  stay  in 
the  country  there  first — I  have  got  to  learn  how 
to  do  better  before  I  meet  him.  I  want  you  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  255 

send  me  the  interest  on  my  own  money  to  live 
on." 

"Are  you  remembering  what  it  is?" 

"Yes.  I'm  going  to  send  nurse  away;  I'm  go- 
ing to  live  like  a  poor  woman.  I  shan't  write  to 
him  while  I'm  there;  I  must  qualify  myself  for 
our  life  together  first.  If  you  find  out  where  he 
is  and  give  him  my  address,  you'll  ruin  the  only 
chance  of  happiness  that  I  have  left.  It  would 
be  no  use  my  going  to  him  till  I'm  ready." 

"If  you  can  live  on  ten  dollars  a  week,  you're 
ready  now,"  moaned  Lynch. 

"No,  I'll  find  it  very  rough  on  ten  dollars  a 
week  for  a  long  time.  I  shan't  be  ready  till  I 
find  it  smooth." 

"Betty,"  he  sobbed  shrilly,  "I  can't  bear  you 
to  do  it!"  Tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  "You're 
all  I've  got  now.  For  God's  sake!" 

"I  must,"  she  said. 

"Don't  quit  me  like  that — to  know  you're  in 
want.  Think  what  I'll  feel!"  The  next  instant 
the  bent  figure  shot  upright,  he  stood  erect,  livid, 
terrible  in  fear.  "What  when  you  get  it  all  ?"  he 
gasped;  "when  I  die?" 

She  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"You  must  I"  The  man  was  a  tempest,  raving, 
overwhelming  her.  "When  I'm  dead,  it'll  be 
yours  now,  all — you  must!" 


256  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"No." 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  saying?  There's 
no  one  else — you  must!" 

"I  can't,  I  wouldn't!    Don't  leave  it  to  me" 

"Who  then?" 

"The  nation!"  she  begged.    "Make  amends!" 

"Amends?"  he  screamed.  "For  what?  To 
Hell  with  the  nation !  My  life's  work  to  my  flesh 
and  blood!" 

"I'd  do  what's  right.  Why  not  you? — it'll  cost 
you  nothing.  If  you  leave  it  to  me,  I'll  never 
touch  it,  I  swear  to  Heaven  I  won't !  Then  why 
not  you?  Do  it  yourself.  Why  not?  Let  them 
say,  'At  the  end  he  did  good' !" 

"Do  I  care  what  they  say?  did  I  ever  care? 
shall  I  care  when  I'm  dead?  My  life's  what  mat- 
ters— what's  my  life  if  I  know  you'll  refuse  my 
money  when  I'm  gone?  It's  the  work  of  sixty 
years  you  talk  of  wasting.  Betty,  you'll  be  one 
of  the  richest  women  on  earth — kings  and  queens 
will  envy  you.  He  won't  ask  you  to  refuse  when 
I'm  gone — it's  me,  my  name,  that's  the  trouble. 
When  I'm  gone,  he'll  'forget'  where  it  all  came 
from.  Pay  a  million  pounds  to  charities — no- 
body'll  criticise  the  rest.  A  million — all  the 
world'll  'forget'  for  it!" 

"No." 

"You  shall!"  he  shrieked.     "It's  my  lifetime 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  257 

you're  pitching  away.  Pay  two  millions,  three 
millions — pay  ten  millions  if  you  like — you  can 
be  called  a  'Saint'  for  ten  millions!  You  shall 
keep  the  rest — you  shall!" 

"No!"  she  cried — and  he  struck,  frenzied,  at 
her  white  face. 

Their  eyes  met  aghast.  He  dropped  into  a 
chair,  a  quivering,  shrunk  old  man. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  do  it — I  didn't 
know!" 

Her  arm  went  round  his  neck.  "It  doesn't 
matter — I  understand." 

"I've  struck  you!  I've  struck  my  girl!  Betty, 
my  honey,  forgive  me!" — He  fondled  her  hand 
convulsively — "I've  struck  my  girl!  Lovey,  I 
didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,  I'm  broken  up. 
Betty,  you'll  take  it  back?  Have  mercy!  Think 
what  it  means  to  me !  My  brains,  my  schemes  for 
nothing — ruin,  from  you!" 

"I  can't  take  it  back,"  she  groaned,  "you  know, 
you  know  I  can't!" 

"I  know?  I  wish  I'd  died  before  you  could 
tell  me!  What  have  I  to  hope  for,  what's  left? 
All  the  work  of  my  life  scattered !  Have  you  got 
no  feeling?"  His  sobs  tore  his  chest.  "O  my 
God,  I  never  was  hard  in  my  home,  but  it  has 
always  been  my  children  who've  made  me 
suffer!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

IT  had  been  a  pitiful  leave-taking.  She  had 
instructed  the  bankers  to  close  her  account,  and 
to  transfer  the  balance  to  her  father's;  she  had 
set  her  foot  upon  the  narrow  way.  But  she  wore 
no  crown  of  righteousness  to  mark  her  dignity, 
she  knew  no  glow  of  virtue  to  light  her  path.  As 
she  had  said,  she  understood — and  to  understand 
was  to  suffer.  She  knew  that  he  ranked  her  now, 
must  always  rank  her,  among  his  enemies — and  of 
all  his  enemies  the  worst.  In  his  eyes,  she  was 
without  defence ;  she  was  a  daughter  who  had  re- 
paid devotion  by  a  callous  wrong.  When  she  had 
been  weak,  his  home,  his  fortune,  his  arms,  all 
had  been  open  to  her;  now  that  she  had  gained 
strength,  she  had  laid  waste  the  achievement  of 
his  life. 

Perforce!  She  had  had  to  deny  his  plea,  or 
sin  towards  her  conscience,  and  her  husband,  and 
her  boy.  Now  she  realised  what  Keith  had  suf- 
fered in  denying  her  own  plea.  But  it  seemed 
to  her  very  cruel  that  she  could  not  do  what  was 
right  without  breaking  a  heart.  She  was  not  the 

258 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  259 

woman  to  view  herself  as  an  appointed  instru- 
ment of  Retribution — she  was  only  a  very  human 
woman,  trying  to  be  good — and  she  sorrowed  to 
feel  that,  not  by  the  vengeance  of  the  multitude, 
not  by  the  Hand  of  God,  could  her  father  have 
been  stricken  more  utterly  than  by  this  inevitable 
blow  that  was  dealt  by  her.  He  was  left  to  con- 
template millions  that  were  useless,  a  dominion 
that  had  crumbled,  a  palace  that  was  void.  Beg- 
gary itself  would  have  been  more  merciful  if  it 
had  spared  him  his  child.  The  havoc  was  com- 
plete. 

It  was  early  April  when  she  arrived  in  Eng- 
land. Until  it  was  settled  where  she  was  to  live, 
she  must  retain  the  nurse,  for  she  could  not  take 
the  baby  with  her  when  she  looked  for  country 
rooms.  For  the  interval  she  had  thought  of  a 
boarding-house  in  Bloomsbury ;  but  even  heroism 
may  shrink  from  English  boarding-houses — or 
from  the  boarders.  Besides,  she  might  need  to 
stay  in  town  only  for  a  night  or  two.  The  re- 
flection consoled  her  for  the  comparative  ex- 
travagance of  a  cheap  hotel — where  she  avoided 
the  nurse's  eyebrows. 

Only  in  a  village  could  she  hope  for  her  income 
to  suffice,  and  her  mind  had  turned  to  the  one 
Tillage  that  she  knew.  The  weather  next  day 
was  favourable — if  the  morning  had  been  wet, 


260  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

she  was  afraid  that  she  might  have  been  cowardly 
enough  to  postpone  her  quest.  She  left  the 
hotel  after  breakfast,  and  took  a  motor  bus  to 
Charing  Cross,  and  a  second-class  return  ticket 
to  Tunbridge  Wells.  Up  to  the  last  minute  she 
had  meant  to  travel  "third,"  but  the  resolution 
forsook  her  at  the  booking  office,  and  she  prom- 
ised herself  to  atone  for  the  indulgence  by  lunch- 
ing on  sponge-cakes. 

And  in  Tunbridge  Wells  the  sun  shone 
too. 

It  was  a  black-robed,  grave-faced  Betty  who 
walked  across  the  common  into  Rusthall,  and  met 
at  every  step  the  gossamer  Betty  of  the  honey- 
moon. It  was  a  new  and  nauseous  task  to  knock 
at  cottage  doors,  where  dirty  children  swarmed, 
and  ask,  "What  have  you  to  let?"  It  was  appall- 
ing to  discover  that  the  villagers  referred  to  the 
"season,"  and  "extras,"  and  glibly  mentioned 
"guineas."  A  milkman  rested  his  pails  and  rec- 
ommended her  to  try  Bon  Repos  in  Paradise 
Road,  and  she  gave  him  sixpence,  and  reproached 
herself  for  it  all  the  way  there.  It  must  be  two- 
pence in  future ;  she  must  never  forget  that  again ! 
But  the  dumpy  villa  was  so  much  superior  to  the 
costly  cottages  that  she  feared  the  milkman  had 
been  deceived  in  her  position.  She  rang  the  brass 
bell  diffidently. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  261 

A  servant  advanced  along  the  passage — oh,  the 
place  was  beyond  her  means,  she  might  have 
known  it ! 

Would  she  step  inside? 

Amazing  that  a  white  woman  could  make  a 
room  so  hideous ! 

The  householder  entered,  wreathed  in  beams, 
and  beads. 

"Apartments?"  Her  beam  subsided.  "Oh  no, 
I  never  let  apartments !"  She  seemed  rather  hurt 
by  the  suggestion.  "I  only  take  P.G.'s." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"P.G.'s,"  said  the  lady  ingratiatingly,  "er — 
paying  guests." 

"Thank  you.  I  am  so  sorry  to  have  trouoled 
you  for  nothing." 

It  was  a  miserable  day.  There  were  moments 
when  she  sat  on  a  bench  and  could  have  cried  with 
disappointment  and  fatigue.  She  had  pictured 
herself  arranging  the  matter  soon,  and  peeping 
at  the  Happy  Valley  before  she  returned;  but 
the  hours  went  by,  and  the  sun  went  down,  and 
still  the  multi -millionairess  in  posse  was  homeless 
on  the  common. 

At  the  baker's,  where  she  had  had  her  frugal 
luncheon,  she  had  a  late  tea,  and  the  baker's 
daughter,  on  hearing  her  difficulties,  recommend- 
ed J"T  to  try  Mrs.  Purdie,  at  3  Fuchsia  Terrace. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Mrs.  Purdie  proved  to  be  a  large,  untidy,  cheer- 
ful woman  who  offered  an  airy  bedroom  and  a 
little  ground-floor  parlour,  with  the  use  of  the 
harmonium,  for  fourteen  shillings  a  week.  She 
explained  that  she  had  never  taken  lodgers  yet, 
but  that  her  neighbour,  Mrs.  Wright,  was  "put- 
ting her  in  the  way  of  things — and  you'll  be  quite 
comfortable  with  me,  my  dear!"  At  this  stage, 
cheerfulness  was  welcome,  and  criticism  was  not 
acute.  Betty  settled  to  go  to  her  on  the  following 
afternoon. 

So  on  the  morrow  the  nurse — bound  for  her 
parents',  in  Felixtowe — kissed  the  baby  good- 
bye; and  she  kissed  him  with  so  much  emotion 
that  Betty's  mouth  quivered  in  parting  from  her. 
"I'll  give  you  a  perfectly  splendid  character  when 
I'm  written  to,  nurse,"  she  said,  "you  may  rely  on 
that !  You  quite  understand  that  you're  not  leav- 
ing me  because  I  don't  appreciate  you?"  She 
was  conscious,  however,  that  "Fuchsia  Terrace" 
did  not  sound  an  impressive  address.  And  then 
the  nurse's  luggage  was  put  on  a  cab;  and  then 
the  other  luggage  was  put  on  a  cab;  and  last, 
Betty  and  her  baby  went  forth  together. 

As  she  carried  him  down  the  steps,  his  solemn 
eyes  seemed  to  question  her;  but,  as  well  as  if 
he  could  express  himself,  she  felt  that  he  agreed 
with  her  during  the  drive. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  263 

"You  know  we're  doing  the  square  thing,"  she 
prattled,  "so  you'll  make  it  as  light  as  you  can  for 
momma,  won't  you,  Ducksums?  Don't  cry  till 
we  get  there,  if  you  can  help  it.  When  we're 
alone,  we  can  have  a  good  howl  together,  but 
we'll  keep  up  our  pluck  in  front  of  strangers,  my 
son!  And  you  shan't  ever  miss  your  nursie— 
your  mother'll  be  as  good,  and  better,  to  you  all 
day  long." 

He  was  heavy  for  his  age ;  her  arms  ached  amid 
the  confusion  of  Charing  Cross.  "Her  baby  and 
her  baggage  give  momma  plenty  to  watch,  don't 
they,  Richard  mine?"  she  murmured.  "Patience, 
sonny,  we'll  get  through  in  time.  There  are 
green  trees  at  the  end,  Richard — trees,  and  the 
Happy  Valley!" 

Well,  he  was  only  a  year  old !  If  he  did  fret  a 
little,  could  she  be  surprised?  "Is  it  that  'Second' 
on  the  door,  my  sweetheart?"  she  cooed.  "To- 
day it'd  have  been  'Third/  if  I  hadn't  taken  you; 
but  I  couldn't  be  mean  to  you  after  luxuriating 
yesterday  myself.  Look  on  the  bright  side,  Be- 
lovedy — we've  got  the  dusty  compartment  to  our- 
selves, and  that's  much  to  be  thankful  for!" 

In  the  fly  that  took  them  into  Rusthall  he  fell 
asleep  on  her  breast,  and  he  wept  at  being 
awakened.  Their  arrival  was  noisy  with  his  dis- 
pleasure, and  the  cheerfulness  of  Mrs.  Purdie, 


264  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

and  the  excitement  of  anaemic  and  unsuspecting 
offspring.  Mrs.  Pur  die  bawled  that  the  table  was 
set  for  tea.  The  fact  was  obvious,  but  she  dwelt 
upon  it.  She  was  astonished  to  hear  that  he  had 
a  bath  every  night — her  neighbour,  Mrs.  Wright, 
had  told  her  not  to  supply  a  bath  oftener  than 
once  a  week.  Still,  the  warm  water  was  provided, 
and  Betty  dried  him  with  the  solitary  towel  that 
was  displayed. 

When  he  slept  again,  she  went  down  to  the 
sitting-room,  leaving  both  doors  open,  that  she 
might  hear  him  if  he  wailed.  The  flight  of  stairs 
between  them  was  short,  but  she  regretted  that 
the  two  rooms  weren't  on  one  floor.  She  sat  by 
the  window  and  watched  the  common  fade,  until 
the  moon  rose.  And  then  Mrs.  Purdie  shut  out 
the  moon  and  brought  in  a  malodorous  lamp  and 
the  supper. 

"I'd  clean  forgot  about  you  sitting  in  the  dark! 
You  must  holler  out  if  you  want  anything,  my 
dear.  There,  I've  got  a  nice  bit  o'  steak  for  you! 
It's  caught  a  bit  just  'ere" — she  drew  a  deprecat- 
ing and  dirty  finger  over  half  of  it — "but  it's 
beautiful  and  tender."  The  finger  was  poked 
into  the  middle  of  the  steak  three  times. 

Silence  surprised  her;  she  said,  "You're  feel- 
ing a  bit  done  up  after  your  journey,  p'raps? 
Your  supper  '11  do  you  good." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  265 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Betty,  very  faintly,  "that 
I  am  hungry;  I  think  I'd  like  a  biscuit  instead." 

"You  didn't  say  nothing  yesterday  about  get- 
ting biscuits,  did  you?  Still,  it's  only  at  the  cor- 
ner; I  daresay  I  can  run  out  for  you  directly. 
Anything  you  want  to  be  comfortable — ypu've 
only  got  to  say.  What  would  you  like — an 
arrowroot?" 

•  "Any  kind  will  do,  thank  you — whatever  they 
keep.  Oh,  and  Mrs.  Purdie,  I  should  like  some 
towels,  please.  Don't  take  them  up  now — you 
might  wake  him.  I'll  take  them  myself  when  I 
go  to  bed,  if  you'll  give  them  to  me." 

"There's  a  towel  up  there,"  said  the  woman, 
staring.  "You  don't  want  another,  do  you?" 

"Why,  yes!  One  towel  between  Baby  and  me 
isn't  very  convenient." 

"Well,  I  dunno."  She  considered.  "Mrs. 
Wright  says  that  one  towel  to  each  room  is  all 
that  can  be  expected.  It's  all  Mrs.  Wright's  in 
the  'abit  of  giving,  and  she's  been  letting  this  ten 
years.  .  .  .  Well,  there!  what's  the  odds?  You 
shall  have  another.  Have  it,  my  dear,  and  feel 
at  'ome!  Now,  don't  leave  the  steak  like  that— 
you  draw  up  and  make  a  good  supper,  do!" 

But  she  couldn't  look  at  the  steak,  and  the 
grocer's  was  shut,  so  she  supped  on  bread  and 
what  was  called  "butter."  Sounds  indicated  that 


266  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Mrs.  Purdie  and  the  anaemic  children  supped 
about  ten  o'clock  on  the  contents  of  a  tin.  The 
typical  Englishwoman  of  the  lower  middle  class 
is  the  stupidest  thing  on  two  legs ;  she  spends  her 
life  in  a  kitchen  without  learning  the  rudiments  of 
cookery,  and  she  has  a  baby  every  year  without 
learning  the  first  rules  for  rearing  a  child. 

"Ducksums,"  said  Betty  next  day,  after  un- 
eatable bacon,  "this  place  is  impossible.  We've 
made  a  blunder,  and  the  sooner  we  recognise  it 
the  better.  Never  waste  time,  Richard — we  don't 
get  much.  That's  a  motto  from  your  American 
mother!  What  we  have  to  decide  is  how  we're 
to  find  other  rooms.  I  can't  leave  you  behind, 
and  your  carriage  is  no  good  without  a  girl  to 
wheel  it — and  you  can't  travel  around  the  coun- 
ty on  my  back.  My  son,  take  your  soother  out 
of  your  mouth,  and  attend  to  business!" 

"Momma!"  said  the  baby.  It  was  his 
vocabulary. 

"That's  so — it's  for  momma  to  do!  Well,  we'll 
go  to  the  first  store  that  sells  newspapers,  arid  see 
what  the  advertisements  have  to  tell  us.  We'll 
rest  on  the  seats  if  momma's  arms  get  tired." 

But  the  local  paper  was  exhibited  among  the 
baskets  of  boots  and  tins  of  condensed  milk  at 
the  corner,  so  there  was  no  need  to  rest  with  him 
on  a  seat. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  267 

She  unpacked  her  writing-case  and  some  of  his 
toys,  and  forced  up  the  window  as  high  as  it 
would  go ;  and  put  the  bed  pillows  on  the  linoleum 
floor,  for  him  to  play  upon.  (The  horsehair 
couch  boasted  only  a  horse-hair  bolster.)  When 
he  consented  to  spare  her,  she  spread  the  news- 
paper on  the  scarlet  tablecover,  and  studied  the 
Apartments  column. 

Eureka!  One  advertisement  had  been  framed 
to  meet  her  wants. 

"Quaint,  attractive  sitting-room  and  bedroom, 
with  attendance  (silent)  offered  in  farmhouse,  at 
nominal  terms.  Pure  air,  exquisite  scenery. 
Peace  within  and  without.  J.  M.,  Mulberry 
Farm,  Atherall,  near  Hammick,  Tunbridge 
Wells." 

She  wrote  to  "J.  M."  eagerly,  and  carried 
"Ducksums"  to  the  pillar  box. 

During  the  next  two  days  he  took  the  air  on 
the  nearest  bench,  and  her  mainstay  was  new- 
laid  eggs,  which  a  tradesman  "obliged  her  with." 
Then  came  a  reply  signed  "John  Mellish."  Mr. 
Hellish  stated  that  the  rent  would  be  fifteen  shill- 
ings a  week — "undistorted ;  I  have  acquired  no 
skill  in  vitiating  my  agreements  by  the  addition 
of  'Extras.' '  He  did  not  keep  a  maid-servant, 
but  his  niece  acted  for  him  as  working  house- 
keeper. If  Mrs.  Keith  would  graciously  make  an 


268          .      .THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

appointment  to  view  the  rooms,  a  trap  should 
meet  her  at  Hammick  Station. 

So  she  made  an  appointment.  And  she  had 
to  hire  a  fly  from  the  Unicorn  at  a  cost  of  two 
shillings  to  take  her  and  "Ducksums"  into  Tun- 
bridge  Wells.  But  on  the  Hammick  platform 
was  Mr.  Mellish. 

"Mrs.  Keith?" 

She  saw  a  spare  man,  with  a  shock  of  silver 
hair  and  a  threadbare  velveteen  jacket.  As  he 
swept  off  his  hat,  his  finger-nails  testified  that 
his  labour  on  the  farm  was  practical;  but  the 
clean-shaven,  ascetic  face  suggested  the  study, 
not  the  soil. 

"I  have  to  apologise,"  he  said,  lifting  the  baby 
into  the  trap,  "for  my  niece's  absence — she  was 
summoned  to  town  to-day.  But  I  have  done  my 
best ;  a  friend  of  ours,  a  lady  from  Crowborough, 
will  show  you  over  the  place.  And  my  niece  re- 
turns to-night,  so  the  rooms  would  be  available 
whenever  you  cared  to  come." 

"I'd  like  to  come  to-morrow,  if  I  come  at  all," 
said  Betty.  "I'm  sorry  to  hear  I  can't  see  your 
niece,  though;  so  much  depends  on  the — I  shall 
be  so  much  dependent  on  her." 

"You'll  find  her  a  very  tactful  and  willing 
woman,  I  assure  you.  If  you  speak  to  her,  she 
will  answer  intelligently ;  if  you  don't  address  her, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  269 

she  will  be  quiet.  You  may  think  I  am  exagger- 
ating, if  you  have  had  any  lengthy  experience  of 
apartments,  but  my  niece  can  positively  clear 
your  dinner-table  without  jarring  your  nerves." 

"It  sounds  very  nice,"  she  said.  "I  hope  my 
little  son  won't  make  too  much  noise  for  your  own 
nerves." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Hellish — his  gestures  were 
courtly— "I  was  alluding  to  'noise' — a  child's 
voice  is  music.  That  reminds  me !  I  must  warn 
you  that  I  sometimes  play  in  the  evening;  the 
piano,  which  is  a  poor  thing,  would  be  audible  in 
your  room.  I  don't  know  if  you  would  object  to 
that?" 

"Oh,  a  piano  wouldn't  disturb  me  at  all." 

"I  am  so  relieved.  Not  that  I  play  often;  I 
have  no  time.  Nor,  for  that  matter,  have  I  any 
gift — as  an  instrumentalist."  He  waited  for  her 
to  ask  a  question,  but  as  she  did  not,  he  added, 
"I  simply  strum  my  compositions  for  my  own 
pleasure;  I  seldom  presume  to  mar  the  work  of 
other  men." 

"You  compose?"  she  exclaimed.  "Now  is  that 
so?  That  is  very  interesting." 

"Oh !"  Having  dragged  the  fact  in,  his  gesture 
dismissed  it  as  beneath  mention.  He  descanted 
on  music  in  general.  There  was  apparently  no 
composer  living,  or  dead,  in  whose  work  he  was 


270  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

not  steeped.  He  condemned,  he  extolled,  he  ad- 
vanced new  and — he  informed  her — "revolution- 
ary" theories.  How  much  of  his  oration  was 
brilliance,  and  how  much  of  it  sheer  eccentricity, 
she  was  unable  to  judge ;  but  if  the  boy  had  not 
become  restive  before  they  reached  the  house,  she 
would  have  thought  it  worth  while  taking  the 
journey  merely  to  meet  so  remarkable  a  farmer. 

And,  compared  with  the  scarlet  tablecover  and 
the  horse-hair  couch,  the  rooms  were  ideal.  A 
little  shabbier  than  she  had  expected,  perhaps,  but 
relatively  a  discovery  and  a  joy.  She  wished 
while  the  visitor  was  showing  them  to  her  that  she 
were  installed  in  them  already.  And  afterwards 
Mr.  Mellish  gave  them  tea,  and  heated  some  milk 
for  the  baby — a  distinguished  figure,  entering  in 
the  velveteen  jacket,  with  the  saucepan.  It  was 
very  restful  at  tea ;  it  was  blessed  to  feel  that  her 
escape  from  Fuchsia  Terrace  was  planned.  Her 
thankfulness  was  deep,  in  the  basket-chair  over- 
looking the  orchard. 

"Then  it  is  understood?"  he  asked,  during  the 
drive  back;  "we  may  expect  you  to-^morrow — or 
shall  we  say  'Saturday'?" 

"Well,  I'm  anxious  to  get  out  of  my  present 
place  immediately,  Mr.  Mellish.  Still,  if  to-mor- 
row wouldn't  be  convenient  to  you— 

"IVe  been  thinking  that  another  day  would 


JHE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  271 

give  my  niece  more  time  to  have  everything  in 
order  for  you,"  he  explained,  "that  is  all."  Yet 
he  seemed  anxious  that  she  should  agree  to  Satur- 
day, so  she  did  so. 

He  begged  her  to  let  them  have  a  postcard  that 
the  trap  might  be  waiting.  He  murmured  final 
hopes  that  she  would  be  very  comfortable,  and 
went  with  her  into  the  station.  She  had  only 
"taken  apartments."  It  sounded  a  trivial  thing; 
it  would  have  sounded  trivial  to  herself  the  pre- 
vious week;  but  the  woman  who  foresaw  a  long 
year  in  apartments  hugged  her  baby  close,  as  the 
train  started,  and  thanked  Heaven  to  have 
"found  a  home." 

Mrs.  Purdie  was  incapable  of  crediting  the 
news.  That  the  lady — or  any  other  lady — could 
wish  to  leave  her,  she  regarded  as  impossible. 

"I  am  going,"  repeated  Betty,  "that  is  all  I 
have  to  say.  You  have  had  my  notice." 

"Xow  don't  you  talk  nonsense,  my  dear!"  said 
Mrs.  Purdie,  emphatically  cheerful.  "You'll  be 
all  right  when  you've  shaken  down,  don't  you 
worry  about  that!" 

And  if  misgivings  assailed  her  later,  she  hid 
them  with  rare  art.  Her  buoyancy  did  not  desert 
her  till  that  wet  Saturday  morning,  when  the  cot 
was  again  sewn  in  its  canvas  wrappings,  and  she 


272  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

had  been  into  the  bedroom  and  beheld  the  trunks 
strapped.  Then  she  complained. 

She  said,  "You  know  you  took  the  rooms  tell- 
ing me  you  was  going  to  be  here  for  months.  I 
expected  to  have  you  right  through  the  summer, 
you  know!" 

"Well,  you  can't  expect  me  to  stay  if  I  don't 
want  to?  I  didn't  pledge  myself  to  stay  a  day 
longer  than  it  suited  me,  did  I?" 

"I  don't  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Purdie.  "Mrs.  Wright  says  it's  a  Very  'eavy  loss, 
and  you  ought  to  make  it  up  to  me' — she  says  she 
never  heard  the  like !  Mrs.  Wright  says  I  ought 
to  'ave  four  months'  money  off  you." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  Mrs.  Wright  you  didn't 
get  it,"  said  Betty. 

"Oh,  well!"  She  produced  the  bill.  "Come 
on,  there  you  are!  I've  charged  you  a  week's 
money,  instead  of  notice — you  can't  grumble  at 
that,  can  you?  I  don't  suppose  you  can  afford 
to  pay  no  more?" 

"That's  so,"  said  Betty,  "I  can't  afford  to  pay 
so  much.  But  I  know  that's  just.  There's  a  pen, 
Mrs.  Purdie — will  you  kindly  give  me  a  receipt?" 

And  then  the  cab  from  the  Unicorn  ground  on 
the  pebbles,  and  the  trunks  were  bumped  down 
the  narrow  stairs. 

The  rain  pelted,  and  the  changes  to-day  were 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  273 

numerous,  and  the  porters  were  dolts.  But 
though  she  missed  the  nurse  in  every  moment, 
she  was  not  discouraged.  She  was  bound  for  the 
quaint,  attractive  rooms,  and  the  tactful  woman, 
and  the  silent  service.  "With  an  orchard,  Duck- 
sums  !"  she  said.  "Think  of  the  orchard  when  the 
sun  shines!" 

The  sight  of  Mr.  Hellish  was  as  welcome  as  if 
he  had  been  an  old  friend. 

"We've  got  here  at  last!"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
d'ye  do?" 

But  somehow  Mr.  Mellish  was  less  enthusiastic 
now. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat,  "to 
have  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Keith,  that  unfortunately 
there  has  been  a  little  difficulty  since  I  had  your 
card — quite  a  temporary  difficulty,  a  hitch !  My 
niece  has  been  delayed  in  town." 

She  stood  staring  at  him  on  the  wet  platform, 
with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  the  trunks,  and 
the  bassinette,  and  the  perambulator  strewn 
round  her. 

"Well,  it  was  your  duty  to  telegraph  to  me!" 
she  cried.  "What  do  you  imagine  I  am  going 
to  do,  arriving  at  the  edge  of  the  world,  with 
nowhere  to  go?" 

"I  have  arranged  for  that,  I  have  arranged 
for  that,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "I  have  taken  rooms 


274  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

for  you  in  the  meanwhile — just  for  a  week.  I  am 
sure,  for  a  week,  you  won't  mind  putting  up  with 
them?  Pear  Cottage  is  primitive,  but  you  will 
find  the  people  very  kindly,  very  kindly,  and 
you'll  pay  only  twelve  shillings  there.  They  quite 
understand  the  position;  I  have  explained." 

"Oh !"  It  was  a  relief  to  learn  that  there  would 
be  a  roof  to  shelter  her.  "Well,  please  give  the 
address  to  the  porter — I  don't  think  all  these 
things  will  go  in  the  trap." 

She  persuaded  the  porter  to  follow  at  once,  but 
she  was  very  disappointed  and  very  vexed;  and 
as  Mr.  Mellish  touched  up  the  mare,  she  said, 
"Can  you  assure  me  that  it  will  be  only  for  a 
week?  I  can't  undertake  to  wait  indefinitely." 

"A  week  precisely!"  he  declared.  "To-day  a 
week  the  rooms'll  be  vacant  again,  and  she'll  have 
come  back." 

"Oh!"  said  Betty.  "You  have  let  the  rooms 
to  somebody  else,  then,  after  letting  them  to  me?" 

He  looked  embarrassed. 

"Just  for  a  week,"  he  admitted.  "Because  my 
niece  could  not  return — merely  for  that  reason. 
The  present  occupants  are  a  gentleman  and  his 
wife — to  them  her  absence  is  no  drawback.  To 
you,  of  course,  it  is — er — necessary  that  a  woman 
should  be  living  on  the  premises.  So,  in  the  mean- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  275 

time,  having  this  offer — quite  unexpectedly — I 
let  the  rooms." 

She  suspected  that  he  had  let  them  because  the 
gentleman  and  his  wife  were  more  profitable,  but 
he  was  so  extremely  courteous,  and  so  highly 
talented,  that  she  was  reluctant  to  think  ill  of 
him. 

She  was  reluctant  to  think  ill  of  him  even  when 
she  saw  the  make-shift.  Opposite  the  farm  gate, 
across  a  patch  of  ragged  grass,  a  little  dilapidated 
cottage  dripped  among  vegetables.  The  broken 
path  was  a  rivulet;  the  door  opened  into  a  kit- 
chen; its  floor  was  bricks. 

"Where  is  the  parlour?"  she  asked.  But  it  was* 
a  reproach  rather  than  a  query ;  already  she  knew 
that  there  was  no  parlour. 

"You  will  have  this  practically  to  yourself," 
he  said  deprecatingly.  "The  accommodation  is 
very  limited  in  Atherall,  of  course,  or  I  would 
have  done  better  for  you.  But  during  the  week 
you  will  have  this  practically  to  yourself — the 
Duplocks  will  leave  it  to  you  as  much  as  possible. 
I  expect  Mrs.  Duplock  is  busy  at  the  back  with 
the  poultry — if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  call  her 
in!" 

She  came  in  as  he  spoke,  a  gaunt,  hard- 
featured  woman,  weather-beaten,  and  bowed  with 
outdoor  toil. 


276  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"  'Afternoon,  sir." 

"This  is  the  lady,  Mrs.  Duplock." 
*  'Afternoon,  marm." 

"I've  told  Mrs.  Keith  that  you  will  make  her 
as  comfortable  as  you  can  while  she's  with  you. 
They  are  bringing  her  luggage  up.  Oh" — he 
turned  to  Betty — "Saturday  is  a  bad  day  for  meat 
in  the  village;  will  you  allow  me  to  send  you  in 
one  of  my  fowls  for  dinner  to-morrow?  And  I 
have  a  modest  library — if  you  will  let  me  lend  you 
some  books,  they  might  help  to  pass  your  time." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  murmured,  "it's 
very  kind  of  you.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Duplock  will 
show  me  my  room  ?  I  want  to  change  my  child's 
clothes  directly  the  things  come — I'm  afraid  of 
his  taking  cold." 

"Then  I'll  leave  you  now.  But  if  there's  any- 
thing more  I  can  do  to — to  repair  the  unfortunate 
occurrence,  pray  give  me  the  privilege.  Mrs. 
Duplock  will  come  across  at  any  moment  that  you 
wish  to  send  to  me,  I'm  sure." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said  again,  and 
Mrs.  Duplock  led  the  way  to  a  bedroom. 

"This  bean't  the  one  for  you  and  the  little  'un," 
she  said,  with  a  broad  drawl,  "this  be  mine  and 
my  husband's."  A  second  door,  with  a  bobbin 
latch,  opened  out  of  it.  "This  be  yours." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  277 

"Oh!"  faltered  Betty.  "I  have  to  pass  through 
your  room  to  go  to  my  own?" 

"Yes,  but  we  shan't  mind,  because  we  shan't  be 
here ;  we're  up  before  five  in  the  mornings.  And 
I  expect  you  go  to  bed  betimes?" 

"What  do  you  call  'betimes'?"  She  was  tear- 
ing off  the  damp  pelisse. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  won't  be  later  than  a 
quarter  to  nine?"  A  four-poster  nearly  monop- 
olised the  floor,  and  she  thumped  the  mountain- 
ous bedding  with  a  proud  fist.  "You'll  lay  on 
two  of  the  finest  feather  beds  in  the  village, 
marm !  They  was  my  mother's  before  me.  And 
her  mother's  before  that.  More  than  thirty  chil- 
dren have  been  born  on  this  bed.  And  nine  folks 
have  been  laid  out  on  it." 

When  the  porter  arrived,  the  trunks  couldn't 
be  coaxed  up  the  staircase,  so  Betty  unpacked 
necessaries  in  the  kitchen.  A  wood  fire  burnt 
there  cheerfully.  She  cut  the  stitches  in  the  can- 
vas wrapping  with  a  knife  that  she  found  in  the 
scullery,  and  aired  the  baby's  sheets  and  blankets 
before  the  blaze.  Mrs.  Duplock  helped  her  to 
carry  the  bassinette,  and  to  erect  it  between  the 
historic  bed  and  a  box,  which  served  for  a  ward- 
robe and  a  chest  of  drawers. 

It  was  a  very  grubby  Betty  who  washed  at  an 
elementary  washhand-stand,  with  mottled  soap. 


278  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Tea  was  sustaining,  and  "Ducksums"  evinced 
a  lively  interest  in  the  chickens  that  ran  about  the 
kitchen.  At  last,  when  she  had  put  him  into  his 
little  night-shirt,  she  went  down  to  the  fire  again, 
and  was  invited  to  the  wooden  arm-chair  with  a 
chintz  cushion.  She  put  her  feet  on  the  fender, 
and  wondered  at  being  there.  Dusk  gathered. 
The  cabbages  through  the  window  silvered,  and 
grew  vague.  Mrs.  Duplock  lit  a  feeble  lamp,  and 
ironed  some  washing  on  the  table.  Her  husband 
came  in  heavily — even  gaunter  than  she,  older, 
still  more  weather-beaten — bent  double  beneath  a 
load.  He  pulled  off  his  cap  first,  and  slid  the 
barley-meal  to  the  ground.  It  struck  the  bricks 
with  a  thud  that  told  its  weight. 

'  'Evening,  marm."  His  trembling  hand 
wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Duplock,"  she  said. 

"I'm  doo-ing  your  shirt,  Joe,"  said  the  woman. 

"So  I  se-e." 

He  said  no  more.  He  sat  on  a  chair  just  in- 
side the  door,  and  unlaced  his  boots.  Betty  felt 
that  her  presence  constrained  him ;  it  occurred  to 
her,  with  new  pity,  that  the  kitchen  was  these 
people's  home,  and  that  the  inconvenience  was  not 
hers  alone.  But  that  eggs  were  to  be  boiled  soon 
for  her  supper,  she  would  have  gone  to  bed  at 
once. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  279 

Still  the  pair  were  dumb.  She  stole  another 
glance  at  him,  and  then — it  was  the  weary  resig- 
nation of  his  legs — she  knew  that  timidity  was 
not  his  only  trouble;  she  realised  that  the  man 
was  dog-tired  from  his  shoulders  to  his  feet,  and 
that  she  was  in  his  chair. 

"Why,  Mr.  Duplock,  I  beg  your  pardon!"  she 
exclaimed, .rising.  "Please  go  and  sit  there!" 

He  looked  at  her,  abashed. 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  it,  marm." 

"But  it's  your  place,  you  know  it  is." 

He  stammered.    "As  to  that " 

"You  go  and  sit  there  right  away,"  she  said, 
"where  you  can  be  comfortable." 

They  changed  seats — the  man  sheepish, 
tongue-tied;  and  his  wife  turned  her  grey  head 
an  instant  from  her  ironing. 

Away  over  the  fields  a  clock  chimed  nine  as 
Betty  undressed  in  the  room  without  a  wardrobe, 
or  a  chest  of  drawers,  or  a  key.  But  "Ducksums" 
was  sleeping  like  a  top,  and  after  she  had  blown 
out  the  candle,  almost  the  next  thing  she  knew 
was  that  she  had  slept  sound  herself. 

When  she  was  called,  the  sky  was  fair,  and  the 
Duplocks  had  long  since  breakfasted.  After  they 
came  back  from  church,  she  sat  down  to  dinner 
with  them.  No  reference  was  made  to  the  ar- 
rangement, but  the  social  barrier  that  the  cot- 


280  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

tagers  had  drawn  across  their  kitchen  table  left 
them  little  space  to  move.  For  them  and  their 
boiled  bacon  and  cabbage,  one  narrow  end;  for 
the  gentry  and  the  fowl,  the  rest ! 

Betty  said,  "Why,  I  think  some  of  this  fowl 
would  go  very  well  with  your  bacon,  Mrs.  Dup- 
lock,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Oh,  well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Duplock,  "you  must 
accept  a  bit  of  our  bacon  with  your  fowl." 

But  Mr.  Mellish's  offering  proved  to  be  so 
tough  that  it  was  no  good  to  anybody,  and  Betty 
dined  on  bacon  and  cabbage. 

"I'm  glad  I  'invited'  you  before  I  began  to 
carve!"  she  laughed;  "I  didn't  know  we  couldn't 
eat  it,  did  I?" 

"As  if  such  a  lady  as  you-u  would  do  a  thing 
like  that!"  said  Mr.  Duplock  devoutly.  They 
were  the  only  words  he  had  spoken  since  he 
asked  a  blessing. 

She  found  the  three-pronged  fork  difficult  to 
use,  and  tried  hard  not  to  mortify  them  by  awk- 
wardness. Her  host  and  hostess  were  extremely 
cramped,  and  they  tried,  with  fine  courtesy,  to 
conceal  their  discomfort. 

She  began  to  respect  the  Duplocks.  She  pro- 
ceeded to  like  them.  It  was  in  a  very  depreca- 
tory voice  that  she  said  on  Tuesday  morning  to 
the  woman: 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  281 

"Mrs.  Duplock,  Baby  is  being  eaten  up — the 
room  must  be  in  a  terrible  state.  I'm  sure  you 
don't  know  it." 

"Oh,  there  now!"  said  Mrs.  Duplock,  "the  poor 
lamb!  But,  marm,  they  come  from  the  chickens 
— it  bean't  what  you  think,  indeed  it  bean't !" 

"I  don't  think  it's— it's  what  I  think  if  you 
tell  me  it  isn't,"  said  Betty.  "But  he's  been  tear- 
ing himself  to  pieces  all  night.  I  don't  know  what 
I'm  to  do!" 

"Of  course  this  is  not  right  for  you,  I  know  it 
ain't.  But  don't  think  there's  any  want  o'  soap- 
and-water  in  the  place,  marm,  I  kearn't  bear  you 
to  think  that — it's  all  them  chickens.  And  I'm 
going  to  get  something  off  my  mi-ind !"  She  was 
peeling  potatoes  outside  the  window,  and  she 
banged  the  knife-handle  on  the  sill.  "I'd  no  right 
to  Ve  asked  twelve  shillings  from  you — and 
what's  more,  I  bean't  going  to  take  it!  But  he 
told  me  you  was  a  lady  who'd  pay  anything  I 
asked." 

"What?    Mr.  Mellish  told  you  that?" 

"Yes.  It's  not  fit  for  you— if  I'd  known  the 
sort  you  was,  I  dursen't  have  took  you.  All  we 
take  is  holiday  children." 

"Don't  they  object  to  the — the  chickens?" 

"Lor  bless  you,  they've  got  worse  than  that 
where  they  come  from !  That's  all  we  take — holi- 


282  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

day  children  for  five  shillings,  and  we  feed  'em 
for  it  besides.  I  do  feel  ashamed  of  having  im- 
posed on  you — I  don't  forget  how  you  gave  up 
his  chair  to  my  old  man  when  he  come  in  tired. 
You  go  down  to  the  village  and  get  a  lotion  for 
the  little  'un — I'll  watch  'im  while  you're  gone, 
as  safe  as  if  he  was  my  own.  It's  all  them  chick- 
ens, marm,  but  how  you're  to  put  up  with  it 
for  a  fortnight,  I  dunno !" 

"Only  for  a  week,  Mrs.  Duplock,  not  a  fort- 
night." 

"Mr.  Mellish,  he  told  us  you'd  be  here  for  a 
fortnight." 

"Oh,  did  he?"  said  Betty,  her  eyes  darkening. 
"I  didn't  know,  that's  news  to  me!  Well,  I'll  be 
very  glad  to  accept  your  offer." 

As  she  crossed  the  road,  he  came  out  to  greet 
her.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  her  arrival,  so 
subduing  her  temper,  she  began  very  formally — 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  the  book  you  sent 
across,  Mr.  Mellish — and  for  the  fowl." 

"Oh,"  his  gesture  was  airy,  "a  trifle,  nothing 
— three  and  sixpence!  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
Keith — I  have  to  plead  for  your  forbearance. 
The  people  with  me  have  just  asked  to  stay  for 
another  week.  Naturally,  the  terms  I  am  re- 
ceiving from  them  are  higher  than  those  I  asked 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  283 

from  you.  Now,  will  you  convenience  me  by  re- 
maining at  the  cottage  for  one  week  longer?" 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  I  do  not  find  it 
a  fair  proposal." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
am  not  accustomed  to  be  told  I  am  unfair!  I 
presume  I  have  the  right  to  let  my  own  apart- 
ments to  the  best  advantage?  In  any  case,"  the 
gestures  were  more  vehement,  "my  niece  cannot 
be  with  me  till  then,  so  I  can't  receive  you  till 
then.  I  must  ask  you  to  wait  till  Saturday  week. 
Our  arrangement  has  depended  on  my  niece's  re- 
turn— I  must  hold  you  to  our  arrangement!" 

There  was  the  contingency  of  her  being  un- 
able to  find  any  other  rooms  sooner — the  risk 
that  plain  speaking  might  condemn  her  to  the 
chickens  for  a  longer  term  still.  She  recognised 
it,  wrathful  as  she  was — and  decided  to  keep  the 
farm  door  open  till  she  was  in  a  position  to  slam 
it. 

"W-e-11,  it'll  be  rather  inconvenient  for  me," 
she  murmured,  assuming  weakness. 

He  took  leave  of  her,  vain  of  his  mastery. 

"Mrs.  Duplock,"  she  volleyed,  when  she  went 
in  with  the  lotion,  "I  don't  go  to  the  farm,  for 
five  minutes,  if  I  can  help  myself.  But  I  can't 
stay  here.  Now  I  want  somewhere  to  live — and 
you  must  find  it  for  me.  Nothing  on  this  earth 


I 

284.  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

will  drive  me  into  that  man's  house  except  the 
chickens  at  the  last  moment!" 

Mrs.  Duplock  had  never  heard  an  American 
at  high  speed  before ;  she  looked  breathless. 

"Well,  I  haven't  liked  to  speak,  marm,"  she 
said,  "but  Mr.  Mellish  bean't  liked  in  the  village 
— he  do  some  rare  shabby  things." 

"Where's  his  niece?    Is  there  a  niece  at  all?" 

"Yes,  he's  got  a  niece,  but  she  hasn't  been  here 
for  four  months."  She  added  impartially,  "May- 
be he  has  hopes  to  get  her  back,  you  know!" 

"Mrs.  Duplock,  what  am  I  to  do?  I  must  have 
other  rooms.  Where  am  I  to  go?  I  don't  know 
how  to  find  them.  You  don't  know  how  hard  it 
is  to  find  lodgings  to  live  in.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  travelling  round  Kent  for  years !" 

"You  poor  lamb,"  said  Mrs.  Duplock,  "beg- 
ging your  pardon!  But  there  be  nothing  fit  for 
you  in  Atherall — you'd  best  go  to  Hammick." 

"Can  you  tell  me  of  anything  there?" 

"I  dunno  no  one  I  could  exactly  recommend 
you  to  in  Hammick.  If  it  had  been  Rusthall 
now,  I  could  have  told  you  of  a  ni-ice  place.  But 
I  suppose  Rusthall's  too  far  for  you?" 

"Why,  Rusthall  is  what  I'd  like  best;  that's 
where  I've  come  from !  But  I  didn't  see  any  'nice 
place.'  " 

"I've  heard  of  ladies  being  very  satisfied  at 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  285 

Mrs.  Hyder's.  And  I'm  told  you  get  what  you 
pay  for  with  her." 

"Is  she  dear?"  asked  Betty.  "I  can't  afford 
more  than  fifteen  shillings  a  week." 

"Well,  I  can't  say.  I  expect  Mrs.  Hyder'd 
want  a  tidy  sum.  If  you'd  like  to  go  and  see  it, 
and  don't  want  to  take  the  little  'un  so  far,  I 
can  do  with  'im.  It's  the  'ouse  in  the  'ollow,  agen 
the  poplars." 

And  when  she  had  interviewed  Mrs.  Hyder, 
Betty  was  confident  of  being  comfortable  there. 
Her  relief  had  been  intense  when  Mrs.  Hyder 
abated  a  half-crown  and  said,  "Well,  for  such  a 
long  while,  we'll  say  fifteen  shillings,  then!"  The 
sitting-room  was  tiny — the  ground-floor  "draw- 
ing-room" was  already  let,  and  for  double  the 
terms — and  she  overlooked  the  kitchen  garden, 
instead  of  the  lawn.  But  the  window  opened  on 
to  a  ladder  staircase,  and  below  there  was  a  little 
red  path,  just  wide  enough  for  one,  dividing  the 
vegetables  from  the  pink  and  white  apple  and 
plum  trees. 

She  returned  to  the  cottage  rejoicing.  This 
time,  Mrs.  Duplock  stitched  the  cot  in  the  canvas. 
Mrs.  Duplock  said  her  "old  man  would  drive  the 
lady  to  the  station  in  their  cart  on  the  morrow." 
Mrs.  Duplock  received  the  fortnight's  rent  that 


286  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

she  had  been  led  to  expect — and  cried  when  she 
took  it. 

"It  don't  seem  right,"  she  quavered,  "it  don't 
indeed!  But  it'd  be  going  agen  Providence  to 
refuse  twelve  shillings,  wouldn't  it,  when  you're 
that  good  as  to  offer  it?  Us  with  another  bird 
dead  only  last  night!"  Two  large  tears  trickled 
down  her  bony  nose.  "Me  and  Duplock  be  go- 
ing to  see  you  safe  into  the  train,  marm.  We've 
been  talking  of  it  over — when  Mr.  Mellish  hears 
what  you  mean  to  do,  I  dunno,  what  he'll  say, 
I'm  su-ure !" 

And,  their  work  sacrificed,  the  couple  appeared 
next  morning  as  a  bodyguard.  The  man  had  put 
on  a  jacket.  The  woman  wore  her  best  clothes, 
to  sit  beside  the  "gentry."  A  pink  rose  bright- 
ened the  antique  bonnet;  the  watchful,  hard- 
featured  face  was  framed  in  ribbons  of  the  an- 
cient brown  which  Fashion's  wheel  was  to  make 
chic  a  few  months  later. 

Not  till  the  car  was  at  the  door  did  Betty  an- 
nounce her  intention  to  Mr.  Mellish.  He  was 
grooming  his  mare  as  she  crossed  the  road,  and 
she  called  to  him  over  the  gate. 

"I  have  brought  the  book  you  kindly  lent  me," 
she  said,  when  he  came  out,  "and  the  three  and 
sixpence.  I  have  to  wish  you  'good-day.'  I  am 
just  going." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  287 

He  looked  beyond  her  to  the  cart,  and  gasped 
—an  excited  figure  on  the  ragged  grass-plot. 

"Going?  What  do  you  mean?'  he  stuttered. 
"You  can't  go — you  mustn't  leave  me  in  the 
lurch  like  this!  What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  very  simple;  I  mean  I  have  taken  other 
apartments." 

"Oh,  ho,  ho!"  he  said  violently.  "We  shall 
soon  see  if  it's  so  simple!  You'll  find  it's  not  so 
simple  as  you  think.  You  have  engaged  my 
rooms ;  I  don't  allow  you  to  break  a  contract.  I 
have  my  claim!" 

The  Duplocks  stood  close  at  hand,  apprehen- 
sive and  alert,  the  woman  holding  the  baby. 

"Will  you  please  put  the  baggage  in,  Mr. 
Duplock?"  said  Betty,  turning. 

"You  are  not  going!"  declaimed  Mr.  Mellish, 
with  dramatic  gesticulation.  "Even  at  this 
eleventh  hour,  madam,  you  do  not  go.  The 
rooms  have  been  reserved  at  your  request;  I'm 
a  man  of  business,  I'll  have  my  rights,  I'll  not  be 
robbed!" 

His  gestures  were  so  uncontrolled  that  for  a 
moment  she  lost  her  nerve  and  was  mute.  Then 
she  threw  up  her  chin  and  fronted  him  steadily. 

"Mr.  Mellish,"  she  said,  "when  you  have  done 
screaming,  let  us  understand  each  other!  You 
let  your  rooms  to  me  by  a  falsehood  about  your 


288  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

niece.  And  you  delayed  me  till  Saturday  be- 
cause you  had  a  chance  of  doing  better  in  the 
meantime.  And  when  the  other  chance  came  off, 
you  asked  me  to  wait  your  convenience  in  a 
kitchen.  Do  you  imagine  I  have  arrived  here 
from  a  kindergarten?" 

"Oh,"  he  shouted,  "they  may  be  common  peo- 
ple, but  they  will  do  all  they  can,  and— 

"They  are  not  common  people,  they  are  much 
superior  to  you,  but  their  house  is  not  suitable." 

"You  are  not  going!"  he  stormed.  He  beat 
the  book  on  his  palm  under  her  face.  "Mark 
that!" 

"There  is  just  one  thing  that  might  detain 
me,"  she  said  through  her  teeth.  "If  the  hand 
you  are  brandishing  happens  to  touch  me,  I  shall 
remain  to  give  you  in  charge  of  the  village  police- 
man. Now  out  of  my  way,  Mr.  Mellish — and 
the  next  time  you  hope  to  cheat  a  woman  because 
she  hasn't  her  husband  with  her,  don't  choose  an 
American !" 

Then  she  climbed  on  to  the  plank  in  the  cart, 
beside  the  brown  bonnet-strings  and  the  rose. 
And  Mrs.  Duplock,  giving  "Ducksums"  to  her, 
said,  "Lor,  marm,  there  was  one  moment  when 
you  looked  as  if  you  was  standing  up  dead!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  was  peaceful,  overlooking  the  plum-trees. 
After  Fuchsia  Terrace,  and  the  kitchen,  there 
was  much  to  be  said  for  the  abode.  She  sur- 
prised herself  soon,  in  this  tiny  room,  by  feeling 
so  grateful  for  it.  "Ducksums"  did  not  give  her 
much  time  to  be  idle  during  the  day,  and  there 
was  no  piano  for  brief  respites,  nor  were  there 
books  for  the  evening.  But  the  red  path  by  the 
fruit  bloom  was  pleasant,  and  there  was  a  seat 
near  the  crocuses  on  the  little  lawn. 

Mrs.  Hyder  recommended  a  gawky  girl  in  a 
pinafore,  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Toad  Rock,  to 
push  the  perambulator,  and  Betty  bought  a  new 
sixpenny-halfpenny  hat  for  her,  and  walked  be- 
side her  twice  a  day  over  the  common.  The 
Happy  Valley  was  still  there — and  the  favourite 
nook  was  again  favoured.  The  girl  and  "Duck- 
sums"  didn't  see  them,  but  the  spot  where  they 
sat  was  full  of  memories.  Last  time  there  had 
been  no  "Ducksums." 

Ignorant  of  such  reflections,  he  waved  his  hand 
to  a  far  meadow,  sprinkled  with  white  lambs. 

289 


290  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

In  this  new  life,  where  her  only  companions 
were  her  baby  boy,  and  Queenie  from  the  Toad 
Rock,  Betty  found  herself  taking  an  interest  in 
her  fellow-lodger.  Attention  was  first  drawn  to 
her  by  peals  of  laughter  in  the  garden  between 
five  and  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
ladder  staircase  had  yielded  a  view  of  a  young 
girl  playing  hide-and-seek  with  a  child  about 
twelve  years  old.  Between  six  o'clock  and  seven, 
however,  the  young  girl  was  discovered  to  be  a 
very  pretty  woman,  and  she  had  brought  out  a 
work-basket  and  was  mending  things.  The  ab- 
sorption with  which  she  mended  things  was  so 
great  a  change  from  the  merriment  with  which 
she  played  hide-and-seek,  that  Betty  looked  at 
her  astonished.  After  supper,  there  had  been 
another  glimpse  of  her,  through  the  drawing- 
room  window — the  lamplight  showed  her,  with  a 
furrowed  brow,  nibbling  a  penholder  at  a  table 
strewn  with  papers. 

Curiosity  in  the  chameleon  ascertained  that  she 
was  the  child's  mother,  and  "an  authoress,"  and 
that  her  name  was  "Mrs.  Norbury." 

Every  morning  Betty  saw  Mrs.  Norbury  leave 
the  house  with  her  little  daughter  swinging  a 
school-satchel.  The  length  of  time  that  she  was 
gone  suggested  that  the  school  was  in  Tunbridge 
Wells.  Every  afternoon  she  went  out  to  bring 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  291 

the  child  back,  and  in  the  interval  the  table  had 
been  strewn  with  papers  again.  Betty  observed 
that  the  main  features  of  the  programme  never 
varied.  At  half-past  four,  a  music  lesson.  From 
five  to  six,  the  games.  From  six  to  seven,  the 
work-basket.  After  supper,  once  more  the  pen! 

What  kind  of  woman  was  this  who  lived  like  a 
machine,  and  could  romp  like  a  young  girl? 

One  afternoon  "Ducksums"  introduced  them. 
He  was  learning  to  stand,  and  exaggerating  his 
stability,  and  Mrs.  Norbury  picked  him  off  the 
daisies.  The  little  girl,  it  transpired,  had  been 
on  tiptoe  for  a  week  to  "know  the  baby,"  and 
the  women  talked  while  they  watched  them. 

"What  a  pretty  little  frock  that  is!"  remarked 
Betty. 

Mrs.  Norbury  beamed. 

"Do  you  think  so,  really?  I  am  glad.  I  had 
to  run  it  up  for  her  in  a  couple  of  days." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  made  that  your- 
self?" 

"That?  Yes,  and  all  her  others  too!  I  make 
everything  she  wears — except  her  shoes  and 
stockings." 

Betty  opened  amazed  eyes  at  her. 

"Are  you  sure  you  quite  believe  me?"  said  the 
prodigy,  laughing. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  laughed  Betty.    "I  was 


292  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

only  wondering  what  your  frightful  fault  can 
be." 

The  other  woman  looked  puzzled. 

"You  seem  too  perfect  to  be  true." 

At  this,  the  prodigy  blushed  as  brightly  as  if 
she  had  been  seventeen. 

"But  it's  so  simple  if  you  know  how,"  she  said. 
"The  only  difficulty  is  to  find  the  time." 

"Well,  so  I  should  say,  seeing  that  you  write 
as  well.  I  don't  know  how  you  do  so  much — 
I've  been  wondering  ever  since  I  came." 

"I've  really  got  it  easier  now  than  I've  ever 
had  it  before! — I  mean,  than  I've  ever  had  it 
since  my  husband  died.  I've  done  everything  for 
Muriel  since  then,  and  she  used  to  be  delicate." 

"She's  all  right  now,  isn't  she?" 

"Oh  yes!  The  sea  air  and  the  country  have 
done  just  what  we  hoped — we  left  town  when 
she  was  five.  But  till  we  came  to  this  place,  she 
was  only  allowed  to  go  to  school  in  the  morn- 
ing— I  had  scarcely  taken  her  when  it  was  time 
to  go  and  fetch  her.  That  was  rather  whizzling. 
You  see,  I  never  write  in  front  of  her;  it'd  be 
bad  for  the  work,  and — what's  more  important 
still — it'd  be  bad  for  the  child  to  have  a  dummy 
mother  driving  a  pen.  Besides,  I  have  to  bring 
her  up." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  293 

"But  she  seems  such  a  good  little  thing — there 
can't  be  much  'bringing  up'  to  do?" 

"Good?"  said  the  other,  in  a  deep,  hushed  voice 
— she  sounded  as  if  she  were  saying  prayers. 
"Yes.  She  makes  me  feel  ashamed  sometimes. 
But  there's  the  good  to  be  helped  along,  and  the 
failings  to  be  'thrown  out  of  the  window.'  She 
and  I  work  together  at  that.  We  'throw  an- 
other failing  out  of  the  window'  every  term." 
The  smile  that  lit  her  face  was  very  girlish. 

This  year,  the  English  climate  was  even  more 
eccentric  than  usual,  but  when  the  sky  was  kind 
and  the  ground  was  dry,  the  women  met  nearly 
every  afternoon  in  the  play  hour.  Sometimes 
Betty  joined  in  the  games  and  romped  with  the 
best.  And  when  the  Easter  holidays  began,  she 
often  took  Muriel  for  walks  with  Queenie  and 
"Ducksums,"  and  left  the  mother  free  at  the 
table. 

By  the  time  the  hyacinths  and  tulips  came  up, 
the  women  were  good  friends.  Mrs.  Xorbury,  it 
seemed,  always  sauntered  in  the  garden  for  ten 
minutes  after  her  evening's  work. 

"Why  don't  you  come  out  too?" 

"I  don't  like  to  go  so  far  away  from  Baby,  for 
fear  he  wakes." 

So,  in  future,  Mrs.  Norbury  always  sauntered 
to  the  kitchen  garden  instead,  and  they  generally 


294  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

sat  and  talked  on  the  ladder  staircase  under  the 
open  window. 

Betty  learnt  that  her  pen  provided  her  only 
income,  and  that  she  had  ambitions,  and  no  pros- 
pect of  fulfilling  them. 

"I  can't  afford  to  go  in  for  the  kind  of  work 
I'd  love,"  she  explained  once,  as  they  nibbled 
chocolate  on  the  steps  together;  "I  couldn't 
educate  Muriel,  I  couldn't  do  anything  by  it!" 

"Have  you  tried?" 

"Yes,  I've  had  two  little  plays  produced  in 
London.  The  second  one  did  me  a  lot  of  good, 
so  far  as  kudos  goes ;  all  the  best-known  dramatic 
critics  gave  it  really  magnificent  notices,  with  a 
single  exception — he  dismissed  it  with  a  sneer. 
But  I  didn't  make  any  money  by  it — and  the 
other  stuff  keeps  us.  I'm  not  proud  of  being  a 
serial  writer,  but  we've  got  to  live." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  proud  indeed. 
I'd  be  very  proud  if  I  could  do  what  you're  do- 
ing. J  have  about  twopence  a  week  to  live  on, 
and  I'm  spending  twopence-halfpenny."  She 
sighed.  "And  I  can't  earn  a  cent.  Anyhow, 
what's  the  professional  distinction  between  writ- 
ing serials  and  writing  novels?" 

"Mrs.  Keith!  A  serial  is  pot-boiling,  and  a 
novel's  a  book." 

"Oh,  I  see !    Every  long  story  that  hasn't  cloth 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  295 

covers  is  a  'pot-boiler' ;  and  every  long  story  that 
has,  is  called  a  'novel.'  I  say,  I  do  wish  you'd 
give  me  a  few  hints — I  want  to  flatten  my  ex- 
penses a  little.  The  Hyders  are  quite  fair,  I 
think;  but  I  don't  seem  to  do  as  well  as  I  ought. 
Do  you  go  to  the  tradespeople  yourself?" 

"Not  unless  I'm  obliged  to.  And  it  doesn't 
matter  here.  Perhaps  you  don't  order  so  well  as 
you  might." 

"How  do  you  mean?  I  order  a  joint,  and  eat 
it  cold  till  I'm  sick  of  seeing  it." 

"Oh,  my  dear!  But  of  course,  I  know — I  used 
to  live  like  that  myself!  If  you  like,  I'll  show 
you  my  week's  bills — then  you'll  see  just  what 
I  do." 

"You  are  a  trump!"  exclaimed  Betty.  "I'd 
shine  that  way  in  no  time.  But  I  expect  you 
cater  more  extensively  than  I  do,  you  know — 
you  spend  a  lot  on  frocks,  too,  don't  you?" 

"Good  gracious,  no!"  But  she  looked  highly 
delighted.  "I  make  most  of  them  myself.  Why, 
your  mourning  must  have  cost  I  don't  know 
how  much!" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Betty,  "but  I  don't  go  to  the 
same  places  now.  I  know  I'm  always  seeing 
you  in  new  things." 

"Not  new  ones.  I  turn  them,  and  bring  a 
blouse  up  to  date,  when  I've  time." 


296  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"For  pity's  sake,  how  do  you  bring  a  blouse 
up  to  date?" 

"Why,  the  sleeves  chiefly — it's  the  sleeves  that 
are  always  changing.  See  this  muslin  thing!" 
She  laughed  gleefully.  "This'll  be  its  fourth 
summer.  The  sleeves  hung  wide  at  the  wrists 
the  first  year.  I  turn  them  upside  down  the  next 
— took  the  wide  ends  up  to  the  shoulder,  and 
puffed  it  down  to  the  elbow,  and  added  a  fitting 
lace  sleeve  to  the  wrist.  Last  year,  I  only  had  to 
throw  away  the  lace  half  and  stick  on  a  frill. 
This  year,  I  stuck  on  an  embroidery  cuff  in- 
stead." 

Betty  contemplated  the  stars. 

"And  next?"  she  faltered. 

"Next  year  I  shall  take  the  skirt,  and  what's 
left  of  the  blouse,  and  make  a  sweet  little  frock, 
all  frills,  for  Muriel." 

"You  are  a  liberal  education!"  said  Betty,  after 
a  long  pause.  "You  may  have  a  piece  more 
chocolate.  When  may  I  come  and  study  those 
bills  of  yours?" 

And  there  was  nothing,  even  the  science  of 
economy,  that  Betty  wasn't  capable  of  mastering 
if  she  bent  her  mind  to  it. 

Another  scene;  after  the  scarlet  runners  flow- 
ered. In  this  scene  Mrs.  Norbury's  Frightful 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  297 

Fault  was  revealed,  and  Betty  received  an  As- 
tounding Object  Lesson. 

It  was  announced  that  Mrs.  Norbury  was  go- 
ing to  spend  twelve  pounds  on  clothes,  all  at 
once. 

"But  I  thought  you  made  all  your  things  your- 
self, Madge?" 

"Xow,  that's  a  nice  accusation!"  complained 
the  other.  "I  told  you  I  made  'most  of  them.' 
So  I  do — and  I  pat  myself  on  the  back  when 
they're  done,  and  while  I'm  wearing  them.  But 
— but,  dear — once  a  year  I  give  myself  a  treat." 

"The  creature's  human,"  said  Betty. 

"I  go  shopping  up  West  with  fifteen  pounds 
— when  I've  managed  to  save  it.  And  I  get  one 
good,  well-cut  costume.  Of  course,  no  furbe- 
lows— it's  the  cut  that  gives  me  the  unholy  joy, 
because  I  know  I'm  properly  dressed.  Then 
there  must  be  a  hat  to  go  with  it — the  gloves,  the 
silk  petticoat,  the  shoes,  the  stockings,  just  a 
complete  rig-out,  to  feel  happy  when  I  call  on 
friends  in  town,  and  to  impress  the  editors.  Now, 
here  are  some  patterns!  What  are  they  wear- 
ing? And  where  do  you  think  I  can  cut  down 
the  prices  on  this  list?  Do  help  me,  Betty!  this 
year  I've  only  got  twelve  pounds  to  fly  with." 

Betty,  as  adviser  upon  "cutting  down  the 
prices"!  It  was  quickly  evident  that  there  was 


298  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

no  experience  to  be  drawn  upon.  But  goodwill 
she  had,  and  her  acute  intelligence,  and  the  thirst 
to  learn — the  dominating  purpose  that  was  al- 
ready dwarfing  hardships  and  re-creating  her. 
And  with  all  her  brain  she  worked.  Both  women 
worked — for  an  anxious  hour  and  a  half — reduc- 
ing, debating,  despairing.  And  finally  they  leant 
back  in  their  chairs  with  triumphant  smiles,  for 
they  had  solved  the  problem  with  eleven  pounds 
nineteen  and  sixpence! 

When  they  separated,  the  other  woman,  who 
realised  that  her  friend  must  have  once  shopped  ^ 
lavishly,  said,  "You  have  been  a  brick!     I'm 
afraid  my  trumpery  purchases  must  have  bored 
you  no  end." 

And  the  experience  had  taught  her  so  much 
that,  for  once  in  her  life,  Betty  stood  without 
words  for  a  reply.  She  simply  shook  her  head  at 
the  other  woman,  and  kissed  her. 

From  Lynch  personally  she  had  heard  noth- 
ing since  she  wrote  giving  him  this  address ;  there 
had  merely  been  the  necessary  acknowledgment 
from  his  lawyer.  Nor  among  the  notices  of  the 
art  exhibitions  had  she  been  able  to  find  any  pic- 
ture of  her  husband's  mentioned.  But  for  a 
solitary  letter  from  Dardy,  it  was  as  if  the  world 
had  been  left  behind.  The  stir  of  a  village  woke 
her  to  her  child;  the  scent  of  the  earth  gave  her 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  299 

greeting  when  she  rose;  the  night  wind  whisper- 
ing in  the  fruit  trees  was  her  lullaby. 

Not  once  had  she  repented  the  choice  that  she 
had  made.  She  had  had  to  struggle  hard  in  these 
three  months,  but  the  struggle  had  been  to  eke 
out  her  means,  never  to  sustain  her  resolve.  She 
knew  no  temptation  to  abandon  it.  The  sun 
broke  upon  it  and  the  sun  set  upon  it,  and  the 
moon  idealised  it,  dauntless  and  unquenchable. 

And,  thanks  to  friendship,  the  struggle  had 
grown  less.  By  slow  degrees  it  had  become  need- 
less for  her  to  consult  daily  the  items  and  prices 
that  were  her  lesson  books.  And  by  slower  de- 
grees the  consciousness  of  poverty  ceased  to  op- 
press her.  There  were  many  hours  in  which  en- 
joyment was  supreme.  Not  the  hours  in  which 
she  trudged  beside  the  scarecrow  hireling,  abjec't 
to  all  beholders;  but  hours  of  a  mother's  duties, 
and  of  a  woman's  rest — when  the  flare  of  the 
scarlet  runners  had  paled  in  the  twilight — hours 
of  a  mother's  worship.  It  was  sweet  terror  to 
strain  towards  his  tottering  feet — breathless,  to 
clutch  at  him,  exultant,  when  he  had  almost 
reached  her.  It  was  a  new  miracle  to  mark  the 
dawn  of  another  word  upon  his  lips,  and  teach 
him  the  word  that  he  was  to  say  to  Keith. 

Under  the  window  the  plums  turned  purple. 
The  earliest  apples  ripened.  And  "Ducksums," 


300  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

defying  the  two  pounds  a  week,  had  grown  out  of 
all  his  petticoats. 

Mrs.  Norbury  viewed  a  heap  of  them  in  Betty's 
room  one  day,  and  said,  "Why,  you've  got 
enough  here  for  half  a  dozen  children — you  don't 
need  to  buy  any  stuff  at  all !  You  can  chop  some 
of  these  up  to  make  the  alterations." 

''Is  that  so?  Well,  that's  just  lovely!  But 
I'm  such  a  duffer,  I  don't  know  the  way,"  ex- 
claimed Betty.  And  the  next  moment  she  stared 
at  the  landlady's  daughter  approaching  with  an 
orange-coloured  envelope  in  her  hand. 

"Regret  to  inform  you  your  father  passed 
away  last  night  from  heart  failure.  No  pain. 
By  his  instructions,  funeral  must  take  place  at 
Greenwood  within  five  days,  rendering  your 
attendance  impossible.  I  place  my  services  en- 
tirely at  your  disposal.  Please  cable  your  wishes, 
and  accept  my  sincerest  condolence. — DORFMAN. 

"Bad  news?"  asked  Mrs.  Norbury. 

"My  father's  dead,"  said  Betty  chokily. 

And  her  head  went  down  on  the  other  woman's 
shoulder,  and  they  sat  so  for  a  long  time  without 
a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

B  Y-and-by  she  sent  a  reply,  begging  the  lawyer 
to  act  for  her  in  her  absence.  She  cabled  from 
the  little  telegraph  office  next  door  to  the  hotel 
where  she  had  once  spent  such  blindly  happy 
weeks.  But  she  shrank  from  appealing  to  him 
about  the  flowers  that  she  wished  laid  on  the 
grave.  About  those  she  cabled  to  Dardy. 

On  the  morrow  came  another  message,  assur- 
ing her  that  all  should  be  done  as  the  dead  man 
had  desired;  and  after  that  was  silence. 

Mrs.  Norbury  had  said,  "You'll  want  to  go 
away?  You  know  you  can  leave  Baby  with 
me?" 

"I'm  sure  you'd  let  me.  But  I  shan't  be  go- 
ing away — my  father  was  in  America ;  I  couldn't 
get  there  in  time.  I  feel  so  awful!" 

"I'm  sorry." 

"We  weren't  friends — that  makes  it  worse." 

"Poor  girl!" 

"I'm  afraid  you  must  think  sometimes  I'm 
very  reserved  with  you — I  daresay  you've  won- 
dered? But  I  can't  talk  about  my  affairs.  It 

301 


302  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

isn't  that  I'm  not  fond  of  you,  Madge,  but  I 
can't!" 

"I've  never  thought  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
haven't  wondered  at  all,  except " 

"Except  what?" 

"Well,  you  told  me  your  husband  was  alive— 
I've  wondered  sometimes  whether  you  got  on 
together." 

"No,  that's  right;  we  didn't  get  on  together. 
But  it  wasn't  his  fault.  My  father  was  a  rich 
man,  and  my  husband  wasn't — and  I  was  ex- 
travagant. That  was  the  trouble.  But  I'm  go- 
ing to  do  better  next  time!  That's  why  I  want 
to  know  things ;  I  don't  want  to  be  such  a  useless 
fool  any  more." 

They  were  anxious  days  that  followed,  and  the 
silent  evenings  were  heavier  still.  Brooding  in 
the  little  lamp-lit  room,  or  pacing  the  narrow 
path  in  the  darkness,  she  faced  one  overwhelming 
question.  The  fear  of  the  millions,  of  the  vast- 
ness  of  their  responsibility,  weighted  her  soul. 
"You'll  be  one  of  the  richest  women  on  earth!" 
She  quailed  at  the  thought.  All  her  ambitions 
were  absorbed  by  her  plan  for  happiness  and 
home — she  prayed  to  escape  the  burden  of  this 
complication  in  her  life. 

Her  mind  groped  among  conjectures.  Dick 
must  have  read  of  the  death;  he  pictured  her 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  303 

in  New  York  still!  But  if  this  mountain  of 
wealth  descended  on  her?  Then  she  could  no 
longer  be  economising  unknown  in  a  village ;  the 
Press  of  America  and  Europe  would  flame  with 
her  relinquishment.  Must  he  learn  her  where- 
abouts then?  Would  he  come  to  her? 

She  said  to  her  friend  at  last,  "I  wish  I  could 
alter  those  things  we  were  talking  about — it'd 
give  me  something  to  do  in  the  evening."  And 
while  she  trembled  before  the  magnitude  of  the 
inheritance,  she  took  a  lesson  in  lengthening  her 
baby's  clothes. 

"Not  so  fast,"  she  pleaded.  "Show  me.  I 
want  to  see  how  you  do  it,  I  want  to  learn." 

And  it  was,  "All  right;  I'll  cut  out  a  pattern  of 
the  bodice.  .  .  .  Now  lay  it  on  the  material — I 
should  think  three  inches  all  round  would  do  for 
him.  Now  stick  in  the  pins.  .  .  .  Now  cut.  Not 
so  close — you've  got  to  think  of  the  turnings!" 

Then,  hindering  the  thought  of  the  "turnings," 
the  news  of  the  millions  flashed. 

A  reference  to  the  funeral ;  next,  "By  the  will 
you  inherit  everything  your  father  possessed, 
which  I  estimate  to  have  a  value  of  two  hundred 
million  dollars.  Your  presence  desirable.  I 
await  your  instructions. — DORFMAN." 

Forty  million  pounds! 

Two  Continents  were  talking  of  her.    Crowned 


304  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

Heads  would  flatter  her.  The  world  would  pros- 
trate itself  before  her  feet.  The  woman  gazed 
over  the  kitchen  garden  with  her  child's  mending 
in  her  hand. 

The  work  was  postponed:  "We'll  do  it  after 
tea,  Madge,  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

She  was  left  to  her  thoughts,  and  to  her  answer. 
For  days  a  word  had  eluded  her.  "Distribute?" 
No.  She  borrowed  a  dictionary,  and  read  under 
D  until  "Disintegrate"  leapt  out. 

"Ducksums"  played  beside  her  while  she 
scribbled,  while  she  discarded  sheets  of  paper. 

The  cablegram  was  written.  She  read  it 
through,  her  baby  scrambling  in  her  lap — 

"Make  immediate  formal  request  on  my  be- 
half to  President  of  United  States,  to  nominate 
Committee  for  the  purpose  of  administering  the 
whole  of  my  father's  fortune  to  such  Charities, 
American  and  European,  as  they  think  deserving. 
I  stipulate  that  the  whole  be  disposed  of  within 
two  years.  My  unalterable  intention  is  that  the 
fortune  be  disintegrated,  and  my  desire  is  as  far 
as  possible  to  benefit  all  those  who  have  suffered 
in  the  process  of  its  amassment.  With  these  ex- 
ceptions :  Pay  promptly  ten  thousand  pounds  to 
Joe  Duplock,  Pear  Cottage,  Atherall,  near  Ham- 
mick,  Tunbridge  Wells.  Fifty  thousand  pounds 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  305 

to  Nurse  Emery,  Fernando  Prospect  Sana- 
torium, the  nurse  who  attended  my  brother  daily 
during  my  stay.  Fifty  thousand  pounds  to 
Madge  Norbury,  of  this  address.  Send  all  docu- 
ments to  me  here  for  signature. — KEITH." 

Once  more,  she  pondered  if  these  three  gifts 
were  inconsistent  with  her  aim.  She  denied  it. 
Throngs  would  benefit  whom  the  Trust  had  never 
harmed;  among  them,  why  not  four  struggling 
lives  whose  worth  she  knew?  Truly  their  wants 
could  have  been  relieved  by  humbler  grants,  but 
that  point  she  was  not  the  woman  to  discern. 
When  Betty  gave,  she  gave  "enough." 

Over  the  common,  unregarded,  she  went  with 
her  answer,  that  was  to  thrill  the  world. 

"Six  pounds,  fifteen,"  said  the  clerk  in  charge. 

"So  much?"  she  exclaimed.  "I  don't  know  if 
I  have  it  here." 

"There  are  a  hundred  and  thirty-five  words." 

"Oh,  well," — she  emptied  the  purse, — "it  has 
to  go!  Will  you  send  it  for  me  at  once,  please?" 

A  minute  she  lingered,  listening.  She  stood 
gathering  her  scanty  change,  as  the  apparatus 
ticked  away  her  millions  to  the  Poor:  no  girl, 
swept  headlong  by  an  impulse — a  woman  com- 
pleting a  resolve.  Her  steadfast  eyes  were 
solemn  as  she  listened.  Her  mind  beheld  the 


306  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

ruin  of  the  dead  man's  earthly  hopes;  yet  her 
spirit  viewed  some  shadow  lifted  from  his  soul. 
If,  from  the  Infinite,  her  act  were  seen,  millions 
looked  lesser  there — and  pity,  most.  From  the 
Great  Beyond,  he  would  not  condemn. 

Peace  flooded  her  heart  as  she  turned  away. 
Many  a  still  evening  there  had  been,  the  same, 
but  none  like  it  unto  her.  The  flush  of  the  sky, 
the  tenderness  of  the  hour,  all  Nature  breathed 
a  promise.  Care  was  behind — ahead,  the  sweet 
fulfilment  of  her  plan.  Her  step  was  buoyant 
on  the  grass.  Clearer  than  the  village  lights 
that  sprang  into  the  gloaming,  she  saw  the  light 
of  Home.  Nearer  than  the  poverty  that  she  re- 
entered,  she  found  the  wealth  of  joy.  The  lamp- 
lit  room  was  mean,  but  her  friend  was  in  it;  the 
hill  had  been  steep,  but  its  height  was  climbed. 

From  the  People,  her  husband,  and  her  boy- 
God,  and  herself! 

Back  to  the  lesson. 

"Tack  it  together.  .  .  .  You've  got  the  shoul- 
der seam  crooked.  .  .  .  That's  it.  That's  right. 
Now— stitch!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  occurred  to  her  afterwards  that,  instead  of 
"on  my  behalf"  in  the  cablegram,  she  might  have 
said,  "for  me,"  and  so  saved  a  shilling.  Probably 
she  might  have  saved  more  shillings  than  one. 
She  had  just  resigned  millions  cheerfully,  but  she 
could  not  help  thinking  of  that  six  pounds, 
fifteen. 

It  annoyed  her  therefore  to  receive  a  reply 
which  put  her  to  further  expense: 

"Most  earnestly  counsel  consideration.  The 
course  you  contemplate  is  open  to  you  always. 
No  need  for  haste.  Confer  with  me  before  you 
act.  If  you  cannot  come  here,  I  will  go  to  you." 

She  condensed  her  rejoinder  with  care,  and  it 
ran: 

"You  have  received  definite  instructions. 
Please  cable  immediately  whether  you  will  fulfil 
them." 

To  this  a  final  warning: 

307 


308  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Your  wishes  shall  be  obeyed.  Legal  form- 
alities, however,  cannot  be  completed  before  two 
months.  After  that,  revocation  impossible." 

She  did  not  know  whether  it  was  true  that 
legal  formalities  would  take  so  long,  or  whether 
time  for  consideration  was  being  discreetly  im- 
posed upon  her;  but  she  resigned  herself  to  the 
delay,  and  the  weeks  stole  by. 

A  child  from  the  village  sauntered  no  more 
into  the  drowsy  garden  with  tidings  from  a  dis- 
tant land.  The  woman  who  was  to  be  world- 
famous  during  a  nine  days'  wonder  trod  the  roads 
of  Rusthall  unremarked,  and  continued  her  daily 
parsimonies.  The  woman  who  was  to  be  as- 
tounded by  news  that  would  metamorphose  her 
life,  continued  to  be  nurse,  author,  dressmaker, 
and  the  playmate  of  her  child.  The  colours  of 
the  common  changed  and  the  colours  of  the  gar- 
den, and,  one  by  one,  Ducksums'  petticoats  were 
lengthened.  But  in  the  routine  of  the  women 
nothing  changed.  Their  days  were  as  before. 

And  meanwhile,  as  Betty  had  supposed,  Keith 
believed  her  to  be  still  in  New  York.  He 
imagined  her  sustained  by  Mrs.  Waldehast,  con- 
doled with  by  Society,  urged  by  confidants  more 
strongly  than  ever  to  sue  for  her  freedom.  He 
had  been  prepared  for  her  to  do  that  earlier,  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  309 

given  thanks  for  the  silence;  the  silence  hinted 
that  some  feeling  for  him  remained.  As  well 
as  if  he  had  been  present,  he  knew  the  advice  that 
was  urged  upon  her — yet  she  struggled  against 
it,  she  would  not  agree  to  divorce  him ! 

Time  had  softened  his  memory  of  their  dis* 
sensions;  perhaps  the  joy  of  accomplishing  good 
work  had  softened  it  even  more.  It  was  no 
longer  for  his  bride  alone  that  he  sorrowed — he 
longed  also  for  his  wife.  He  reproached  himself 
for  harshness,  for  lack  of  patience;  sometimes 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  merciless.  If 
his  means  had  improved,  he  would  have  written 
to  her;  a  score  of  impulses  had  seized  him  to 
write,  even  as  it  was.  But  when  the  pen  was  in 
his  hand,  what  could  be  said?  She  had  drooped 
under  the  poverty,  and  he  was  still  as  poor.  Only 
if  his  picture  fulfilled  his  expectations  would  there 
be  anything  to  say.  If  "The  Harbour  of  Souls" 
succeeded,  he  would  implore  her  to  return! 

Not  to  effect  a  reunion  had  he  begun  the  pic- 
ture— the  man  was  an  artist,  and  he  painted  be- 
cause he  must — but  he  had  thought  of  her  home- 
coming when  he  set  his  palette  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  he  had  thought  of  her  homecoming  when 
he  washed  his  brushes  at  the  close  of  day.  And 
while  the  picture  grew — while  every  mail  might 
bring  the  news  he  dreaded,  and  every  mail  still 


310  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

withheld  it — Keith  had  trembled  for  the  result 
of  that  contention  in  New  York,  the  contention 
in  which  unknown  people  fought  against  his 
dearest  hope. 

Then  the  hope  had  been  slain  by  other  means ; 
he  had  read  of  her  brother's  death,  and  of  her 
father's — and  he  fancied  his  wife  reigning  in  the 
great  house  that  she  had  quitted,  mistress  of  the 
colossal  fortune  that  she  meant  to  sign  away. 
And,  in  spite  of  this,  the  canvas  had  claimed  him 
still.  The  picture  of  the  homecoming  had  faded, 
but  the  picture  on  the  easel  had  progressed.  He 
had  painted  through  every  hour  of  light,  painted, 
and  painted  out,  and  painted  again.  And  now 
the  work  of  ten  months  was  finished,  and  the  vic- 
tory that  he  had  prayed  for  all  his  life  had  come. 
"The  Harbour  of  Souls"  had  been  bought  by  the 
Chantrey  Bequest — on  Keith  had  been  bestowed 
the  highest  recognition  that  can  be  granted  to 
any  painter  in  England.  And,  being  an  artist, 
he  exulted;  and,  being  a  man,  he  mourned. 
From  the  summit  of  success  he  raised  his  arms  to 
wife  and  child,  to  make  the  joy  complete. 

Redirected  from  Telemachus  Mansions,  a 
letter  was  delivered  at  the  studio.  And  the  first 
words  startled  him,  and  he  turned  to  the  signa- 
ture— and  the  signature  was  strange,  and  he  read 
the  first  words  again : 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  311 

"DEAR  SIR, — Since  I  came  back  with  Mrs. 
Keith  from  America  in  April,  Mother  has  been 
ailing,  and  I  have  been  keeping  house  for  Father 
in  Felix stowe.  But  now  I  am  going  to  take  a 
place  again,  and  I  should  be  much  obliged  if  Mrs. 
Keith  would  kindly  send  the  character  she  prom- 
ised. The  lady  that  I  am  going  to  has  written 
to  Rusthall,  but  her  letter  was  returned  from 
3  Fuchsia  Terrace,  marked  'Gone  Away,'  so  I  am 
taking  the  liberty  of  writing  to  you,  hoping  you 
will  send  this  on  to  Mrs.  Keith  if  she  is  not  at 
home.  Hoping  Baby  is  well. — 

"Yours  respectfully, 

"HARRIET  FRY." 

The  nurse!  And  Betty  had  "come  back  in 
April !"  His  mind  ran  riot.  What  could  it  mean 
except  that 

But  why  strive  to  conjecture  what  it  meant 
when  he  might  be  able  to  ask  her,  face  to  face? 
Rusthall.  Perhaps  she  was  at  Rusthall  now?  At 
least  he  should  contrive  to  find  her !  He  crushed 
the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  sped  down  the  flights 
of  steps. 

Among  the  decayed  four-wheelers  on  the  hope- 
less Foundling  rank,  a  mouldering  hansom  stood. 

"Charing  Cross — as  quick  as  you  can  go!"  he 
cried.  And  its  quickest  was  a  crawl  to  his  im- 


312  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

patience,  and  he  beat  the  stuffy  cushion  with  his 
fist. 

And  while  he  leant  over  the  doors  of  the 
doddering  cah,  a  placard  struck  his  senses  and 
the  wonder  of  the  hour  was  hurled. 

"Lynch's  Daughter  Gives  Up  Her  Fortune!" 

As  he  jumped,  the  board  was  passed. 

"Forty  Millions  To  The  Poor!"  The  pro- 
clamation fluttered  at  a  street  corner,  strident 
voices  yelled  it  to  the  crowd. 

"Stop!"  he  called;  and  a  grimy  hand  shoved 
evening  papers  to  his  clutch. 

"This  is  a  bit  of  all  right,  guv'nor?"  exclaimed 
the  vagrant.  "Gord  bless  the  lady!" 

"God  bless  the  lady!"  echoed  her  husband. 
"There's  a  sovereign — keep  the  change." 

"Strike  me  pink,  the  world's  gone  barmy!" 
gasped  the  man,  and  the  cab  jerked  on. 

But  the  lines  were  few;  just  the  sensational 
fact  was  cabled:  "Lynch's  Daughter  Gives  Up 
Her  Fortune!"  That  was  all.  But  that  was 
everywhere.  Contents  bills  blazoned  it,  newsboys 
bellowed  it,  JLondon  resounded  with  her  deed. 
At  the  station  he  seized  more  papers,  in  the  hope 
of  learning  where  she  was,  and  scanned  them 
while  he  waited  for  his  train.  No  hint! 

In  the  compartment,  all  the  men  were  talking 
of  her.  The  journey  among  strangers  chatter- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  313 

ing  her  name  seemed  eternal.  If  it  failed?  He 
hungered  to  discover  her.  He  wanted  to  kneel 
at  her  feet,  to  bow  his  head  on  her  knees.  He 
famined  to  reach  her.  And  she  might  not  be  in 
England,  after  all!  Perhaps  while  his  nerves 
strained  for  Rusthall,  she  was  looking  from  a  win- 
dow in  Xew  York? 

Tunbridge  Wells  at  last.  In  the  twilight,  he 
was  rattled  over  the  road  on  which  they  used  to 
stroll  together  to  the  Pantiles,  past  the  walls  of 
the  hotel  where  they  had  stayed.  Fuchsia  Ter- 
race was  unfamiliar;  when  the  stoppage  of  the 
fly  announced  it,  his  throat  grew  tight  that  she 
had  known  its  ignominy. 

A  slattern  advanced,  with  a  trail  of  unhealthy 
children. 

"Is  Mrs.  Keith  here?" 

"Mrs.  Keith  ?"  She  tossed  a  frowzy  head.  "Oh 
no!" 

"She  did  lodge  here,  didn't  she?" 

"Mrs.  Keith  left  months  ago." 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  where  she  went? 
I'm  very  anxious  to  find  her.  It's  most  important 
that  I  should  see  her  at  once." 

"I  couldn't  say,  I'm  sure." 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  she  is  still  in  Rusthall?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  I'm  sure,"  repeated  the 
woman. 


314  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

He  brought  out  some  shillings  and  rejoiced  the 
unhealthy  children,  none  of  whom  said  "Thank 
you." 

The  woman  hesitated. 

"I  couldn't  say  for  rights  where  she's  staying, 
but  I've  seen  her  about,  once  or  twice,  since  she 
left  me." 

"Lately?" 

"I  suppose  the  last  time  I  see  her  might  ha* 
been  a  fortnight  ago." 

"Thank  you  very  much." 

He  rushed  back  to  the  fly,  and  told  the  man 
to  drive  to  the  post  office.  At  the  post  office,  he 
astonished  the  girl  at  the  desk  by  taking  off  his 
hat  to  her.  Could  she  favour  him  with  the  ad- 
dress of  a  lady  in  the  neighbourhood  named  Mrs. 
Keith? 

"Mrs.  Richard  Keith?" 

"Mrs.  Richard  Keith,"  he  stammered. 

"She's  living  at  Hyder's — over  there,  the  house 
by  the  poplars,"  said  the  girl  graciously,  and  was 
sorry  that  the  gentleman  went  out  in  such  a 
hurry. 

By  the  poplars,  a  high  gate ;  through  the  gate, 
a  darksome  path.  Six  strides,  and  he  had  reached 
the  door. 

"Mrs.  Keith?" 

"Who  shall  I  say,  sir?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  315 

'  'Her  husband,'  please,"  he  answered.  And 
a  girl  beyond  cried,  "Mrs.  Keith's  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, mother!"  He  was  left  standing  in  the 
porch. 

Into  the  light  of  the  little  hall  a  lady  hastened, 
with  friendly,  smiling  eyes. 

"Your  wife  just  went  upstairs,  Mr.  Keith," 
she  said;  "I'll  show  you  the  way." 

"I  shall  be  grateful." 

But,  instead  of  inviting  him  to  enter,  the  lady 
led  him  round  the  house  to  a  kitchen  garden. 
And  at  a  stair-head  was  an  open  window,  shining 
yellow  on  the  night. 

"Your  wife's  up  there,"  she  murmured,  and 
was  gone. 

He  mustn't  frighten  her !  The  thought  thrust 
him  back  in  time. 

"Betty!"  he  whispered,  trembling. 

Only  the  fruit  boughs  rustled  in  the  breeze. 

"Betty!"  he  called.  And  a  figure  came  be- 
tween the  lamp-glow  and  the  dusk. 

"Betty!" 

It  was  Her  wondering  face  that  bent  in  the 
darkness!  It  was  Her  wondering  voice  that 
broke  with  his  name! 

She  flung  out  her  hands  to  him. 

And  he  stumbled  up  the  staircase  and  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 


S16  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

And  afterwards  he  didn't  know  what  he  had 
said,  or  what  she  had  said  in  the  first  few  mo- 
ments, but,  "If  you  go  on  being  so  penitent,  I 
shall  begin  to  think  yqu  must  have  treated  me 
very  badly,"  she  was  smiling.  And  love  and  girl- 
hood were  in  her  smile,  and  her  dimple  was  sun- 
ning in  her  cheek.  And  would  any  other  woman, 
with  big  tears  splashing,  have  laughed,  "I  al- 
ways did  stroke  your  hair  the  wrong  way,  didn't 
I?  You've  got  to  put  up  with  it?" 

Then  she  was  exclaiming,  "I've  got  so  much  to 
tell  you,  but  I  can't  get  a  word  in  sideways! 
How  did  you  find  me?" 

And  when  he  began  to  say  how  he  had  found 
her,  memories  sprang,  interrupting — and  called 
other  memories — and  he  had  to  begin  again: 

"Nurse » 

"Dickie!" — she  beat  feeble  hands  on  him — 
"why  do  you  keep  saying  'nurse' — what  has  nurse 
got  to  do  with  it?" 

"She  wrote  to  me — she  wants  a  character,  and 
doesn't  know  where  you  are.  But  she  said  you 
had  gone  to  Rusthall." 

"Oh!  Now  you're  rewarded  for  not  sending 
her  away  when  you  wanted  to — look  how  nice 
it  is  for  you!  Yes?  Well?  Go  on,  tell  me  all! 
Oh,  if  you  were  a  woman  you'd  have  told  me 
everything  in  ten  seconds — everything  that  has 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  317 

happened  to  you — only  you  couldn't  have  told 
me  anything  that  was  half  so  lovely  to  hear !  Go 
on,  Dickie;  never  mind  what  you  say — just  hold 
me  tight  and  talk!" 

"I  got  her  letter  this  afternoon,  and  I  tumbled 
into  a  cab;  and  on  the  way  to  Charing  Cross  I 
saw  the  news,  what  you've  done 

"You  know?" 

"Know?  All  London's  shouting  it.  And  I 
stopped  the  cab  to  get  a  paper,  and  the  man  said, 
'God  bless  the  lady,'  and  Z  said,  'God  bless  the 

lady,'  and — and it  is  'God  bless  the  lady'! 

Betty,  you're  an  Angel!  You're  the  greatest 
woman  on  earth." 

"O — oh,"  she  cooed.  "And  then,  and  then,  and 
then?  Well?" 

"Well,  then  I  went  to  Fuchsia  Terrace. — My 
heart,  what  a  place  for  you!  how  could  you  go 
there,  kiddy? — And  she  told  me  she  had  seen  you 
since  you  left ;  and  I  went  to  the  post  office,  and 

they  gave  me  your  address,  and Betty,  has 

it  been  very  awful  for  you?  You've  been  living 
on  that  hundred  a  year?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
what  you  were  doing?" 

"My!"  she  mocked  him  with  dismay;  "that  re- 
minds me — you've  come  much  too  soon;  you're 
all  'out  of  the  picture' ;  I  meant  to  be  here  for  a 
year  before  you  knew  what  I  was  doing!  I  ought 


318  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

to  send  you  away  again.  I'm  learning  to  be  a 
proper  wife  to  you.  Dardy  said  I  couldn't,  but  I 
am.  How  do  you  suppose  that  Baby's— 
Well!"  Her  radiant  face  grimaced  at  him. 
"You're  a  fine  father,  you  haven't  asked  about 
your  son  yet!" 

"How's  our  son,  my  wife?" 

"How  is  he?  He  is  unique.  He's  asleep  in 
there.  Come  and  look!" 

They  crept  to  the  cot,  and  stood  silent.  After 
a  minute  she  whispered,  "He  can  walk!  He 
topples  sometimes,  but  no  other  baby  ever 
toppled  so  well."  Next,  "Come  back,  or  we  shall 
wake  him!  .  .  .  I've  got  something  to  tell  you. 
How  do  you  suppose  his  clothes  have  been  made 
big  enough?  I  did  them  myself,  to  save  buying 
new  ones.  A  woman  downstairs  showed  me  how 
— I'm  just  great  at  altering  clothes  to-day."  She 
popped  a  pink  finger  to  his  lips:  "I  don't  know 
if  the  needle  has  roughened  my  finger  for  you— 
feel!" 

And  then  Miss  Hyder  appeared  with  a  potato 
pie;  and  Betty  whispered  to  him,  "If  I  had 
known  I'd  have  company  to  supper,  I'd  have 
saved  some  rice  pudding." 

,     He  watched  her  cut  the  loaf.    She  cut  it  with 
amazing  skill — and  chid  him  for  "daintiness"  be- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  319 

cause  he  was  so  sick  with  love  that  he  couldn't 
eat.  But  she  was  no  better  herself. 

On  the  path  where  he  had  called  to  her  the 
moon  shone  now,  and  from  their  chairs  the 
kitchen  garden  was  enchanted.  She  wanted  to 
hear  how  it  was  that  he  hadn't  "come  in  at  the 
door,  like  anybody  else,"  and  laughter  rippled 
when  he  told  her  of  his  guide.  "There  was  the 
touch  of  the  dramatist  about  that — she  writes 
plays,  you  know!  What  are  you  painting  now, 
Dickie?  How's  the  work?" 

"Sweetheart,"  he  answered,  "take  some  potato 
pie — it's  your  last  chance!" 

Her  chair  fell  back,  she  was  beside  him  in  a 
flash,  her  hands  on  his  shoulders:  "What  have 
you  done?" 

"I've  finished  'The  Harbour  of  Souls.'  " 

For  an  instant,  though  her  lips  smiled,  her  gaze 
was  wistful — she  hadn't  been  there  to  see! 

"Good?"  she  faltered. 

"Sold  for  a  thousand  guineas!" 

"A  thousand  guineas?    Not  Vivard?" 

"The  Chantrey  Bequest!" 

"Dick!"  No  shade  on  her  rapture  now — she 
clung  to  him,  breathless,  eager,  triumphant.  It 
was  the  moment  of  his  life,  and  hers.  "The 
'Chantrey  Bequest'  means  fame?" 

"It  means  the  biggest  thing  that  could  possibly 


320  THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

have  happened  to  us.  They've  invited  me  to 
exhibit  it  at  the  Academy  next  year.  The  public 
'11  say  it's  magnificent,  incomprehensible,  or  rot- 
ten; but  they'll  flock  to  see  it,  and  they'll  talk 
about  it,  because  the  Chantrey  Bequest  has 
bought  it.  From  the  Academy  it'll  go  to  the  per- 
manent collection  at  the  Tate  Gallery." 
"Permanent?  When  Baby  grows  up?" 
"Always — it's  bought  for  England,  it's  the 
property  of  the  nation."  Tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes.  "My  God,  I'm  proud  of  the  honour!  And 
yet,  when  I  think  of  yours,  this  thing  that  I  have 
done  seems  too  petty  to  talk  about.  But  it  isn't 
the  honour  only,  loveliest,  it  means  the  end  of 
the  struggle,  it  means  I'm  'made.'  After  this, 
my  prices  are  whatever  I  choose  to  ask.  I  can 
give  you  a  pretty  home,  and  peace  of  mind.  I 
can  take  you  away  from  here  to-morrow  morn- 
ing— to  London,  Paris,  Rome,  wherever  you'd 
like  to  go.  If  I  painted  more  quickly,  we  could 
have  six  or  seven  thousand  a  year  now ;  even  do- 
ing my  best  work,  we  can  be  sure  of  comfort. 
You've  only  to  say  what  you  want  to  make  you 
quite  happy — only  tell  me  what  I'm  to  do!" 

"You  are  to  do — your  best  work,"  she  told  him. 
"That's  what  we're  going  to  live  for,  Dickie,  to 
do  our  best!  Oh,  I  am  glad  for  you,  glad,  glad! 
Yes,  you  shall  take  me  early  to-morrow,  and  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

first  thing  I'm  to  see  is  your  picture.  Talk  to  me 
about  it.  When  did  you  begin  it — how  long 
ago?" 

"I  began  it  soon  after  you  went.  And  I've 
been  at  work  on  it  ever  since." 

"How  did  you  manage,  Dick — you've  been 
hard  up?" 

"About  two  bob  a  day — I  did  a  sketch  now 
and  then  to  keep  me  going,  and  I  didn't  do  many 
—I  couldn't  spare  the  time.  And  I  thought  of 
you  while  I  was  painting — I  meant  to  beg  you  to 
come  home  if  I  made  a  hit.  And  all  the  time,  I 
was  afraid  of  the  maill" 

"The  mail?" 

"Afraid  they'd  persuade  you  to  get  rid  of  me 
before  the  thing  was  done." 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  she  moaned,  clinging  to  him, 
"my  dear!" 

"All  the  time  I  thought  of  you,  Betty,  I 
wanted  you  so  much,  my  love !  If  I  had  guessed ! 
Tell  me,  what  do  you  do  here — you've  no  nurse 
at  all?" 

"I've  Queenie." 

"Who's  Queenie?" 

"She's  a  child  who  comes  to  wheel  Baby's  car- 
riage for  me.  She's  about  fourteen,  but  it  doesn't 
seem  to  be  too  heavy  for  her,  and  she's  very  elated 
by  the  eighteenpence  a  week.  We  go  out  every 


THE  HOUSE  CF  LYNCH 

morning  and  afternoon  if  it's  fine.  Sometimes  we 
go  to  the  Happy  Valley." 

"My  poor  little  girl!" 

"No,  you  aren't  to  say  that!  it  hasn't  been  so 
rough  as  you  think.  I've  got  quite  used  to  it. 
There's  always  something  to  do,  to  keep  me  from 
being  dull,  and  it  doesn't  seem  a  rush  any  more, 
as  it  did  at  the  start.  When  I  come  back,  .there's 
dinner,  and  then  Baby  goes  to  sleep.  And  then 
we  play,  and  go  for  another  walk — I  think  I  like 
our  afternoon  walks  best.  I've  found  such  pretty 
bits;  I'd  like  to  show  you!  Then  there's  tea. 
And  I  give  him  his  bath.  And  after  supper— 

The  landlady's  daughter  knocked  again,  with 
a  basket  of  clean  washing. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Keith,  Mrs.  Tobitt  says  would  you 
very  kindly  oblige  her  with  the  money  to-night, 
instead  of  on  Monday?" 

"What,  this  week  too?"  said  Betty  gaily.  "Oh, 
that  husband  of  hers!  Will  you  wait  while  I 
count  them,  then,  Miss  Hyder?  You  might 
clear  away  while  I'm  doing  it,  please." 

Wondering,  he  saw  her  lift  the  things  on  to 
the  sofa,  and  arrange  them  in  neat  little  stacks, 
and  compare  them  with  the  list.  As  naturally 
as  if  she  had  been  doing  it  all  her  life,  she  checked 
the  bill,  and  produced  two  and  ninepence,  and 
pencilled  in  the  book  that  a  pair  of  Baby's  socks 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH  323 

was  missing.  Amazement  possessed  him  as  he 
watched  her. 

"And  after  supper,"  she  went  on,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  when  they  were  alone,  "I've  got 
his  frocks  to  mend.  I'm  terribly  vain  of  mend- 
ing frocks !  And  there's  my  friend  downstairs — 
we  sit  on  'those  steps  and  talk  every  evening, 
before  we  go  to  bed.  It's  so  beautifully  still; 
there  isn't  a  sound,  except  a  >church-clock  that 

chimes  protectively.    I — I  don't  know "  She 

looked  round,  hesitating.  "Don't  imagine  I 
won't  enjoy  a  good  time  on  the  Continent,  but 
I'm  not  sure  I'm  so  keen  on  saying  good-bye  to 
all  this  in  quite  such  a  hurry.  I'd  like  to  go  and 
feast  on  your  picture  before  breakfast  to-mor- 
row, but  don't  you  think  we  might  come  back 
for  two  or  three  days?" 

"You  want  to?"  he  asked,  marvelling. 

"If  you  won't  think  it  silly?  It's  difficult  to 
put  into  words,  but—  •  You  see,  this  has  been 
my  home  for  a  long  while,  and  I've  felt  so  mucR 
here!"  Her  voice  trembled.  "I'd  like  time  to— 
to  look  at  it,  and  look  back  at  it,  before  I  go. 
'Tisn't  that  I  don't  want  to  go  to  you,  my  love; 
it's  because  I  love  you,  because  I've  tried  so  hard 
to  be  better  for  you  here,  that  the  place  means 
so  much  to  me." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LYNCH 

"Kiddy!"  he  said  chokily.  Her  palm  lay  up- 
turned in  her  lap,  and  his  hand  closed  on  it. 

"You  don't  mind?" 

"It's  what  I'd  choose!  I'd  like  to  go  with  you 
for  the  walks — 'Queenie'  shall  take  us  all.  I'd 
like  to  watch  you  while  you  sew  the  things,  I'd 
like  to  live  just  the  life  that  you've  been  living, 
my  dearest  dear.  Never  mind  how  long — even  if 
it's  only  a  few  days,  it'll  always  make  the  time 
we've  been  apart  seem  shorter  to  me  afterwards." 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  she  murmured — 
"we  shall  have  been  together  here.  And  we 
couldn't  be  more  than  happy  anywhere!" 

So  they  saw  "happiness" — to  be  together. 


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